The Burden of Perfection
by TheWitch'sCat
Summary: Is Elphaba the only Child of Both Worlds?  What is the cost of being torn between two realities, and can anyone truly be perfect?
1. Chapter 1

**So...my muse has given me another story. If you've clicked on this, you might be thinking...what on earth is this about? You might think I've completely derailed and gone insane. However, I hope that some of you will give this a chance. Hopefully you'll take a chance on my ability to create a character that you can love. Please? I promise to give you a rich story. I really do...for those who love Elphie, and those who love Mary. I know some of you tend to follow me no matter how far out in left field I venture. :-)**

**This idea came about because I am currently working the show Mary Poppins, and I will see it about twenty times before I'm done. Sitting there, watching it over and over, I realized a few things. First, no one knows where Mary goes when she 'flies away'. Second, she's more than good with kids...she's got magic. Third, she can talk to animals. So...my crazy brain starts clicking away, and I think...what if...what if there was a connection with Oz? I'm also a sucker for creating a good back story. There's got to be more beneath the perfection. And I love the bit of an 'edge' they've given her in the show. So I had to write something.**

**This is intended to be a sequal to A Time for Rain, and Black and White. However, you can read this independently of those. Some cheats you need to know, though: In A Time for Rain, Elphaba finds herself in Kansas after she 'melts'. It takes place at the end of Wicked, bookverse. She is taken in by Mae and Wilbur, and subsequently meets her friends Tessy and Adrian. She and Fiyero reunite there, and they have made a home. Fiyero has several adopted children, who were ophans. Elphaba has used her ability to communicate with Animals to establish herself as a sort-of veterinarian. They have also learned that both she and Dorothy are children of both worlds. This is why they are able to travel to Oz and back. It also means they are related. It's complicated...I know, but it works if you read A Time for Rain. Also, Black and White is the story of what happened to Elphaba in the five years between Shiz and meeting Fiyero. She went through some difficult things in that, and they may come up in this story as well.**

**Happy reading...and to quote the show Mary Poppins..."Anything can happen, if you let it..."**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Fiyero was a bit surprised at how well Elphaba had adjusted to life on a working farm. He thought perhaps it had something to do with her upbringing in the rough, backcountry of Munchkinland. Whatever the reason, however, she seemed at peace with tending the animals, whom she still called Animals. She'd quickly become a highly sought after doctor to all things furry and feathered, and had earned cautious respect from the community. Surprisingly, she'd also taken on the task of keeping the children out of mischief.

Elphaba had never been very suited for motherhood. Fiyero hadn't expected her to suddenly become doting and sweet. He was proud, however, of how she took ownership of the ragamuffin group of orphans he called his family. She tended them quietly, keeping her distance yet demanding obedience. It was only in rare moments, such as when little John fell and broke his shin bone, that she demonstrated the true depth of her feelings.

She had painstakingly set and bandaged his leg, snapping at him not to cause infection by playing in the mud. Still, they all saw the love and the fear in her eyes. The children saw that she loved Fiyero, and perhaps understood that they were loved vicariously. Somehow, it was enough for them. And it was enough for Fiyero, for whom just a year ago the green woman had been only a painful memory. Now, his house was full, both literally and emotionally. Trudy, whom even Elphaba now called Ma, had welcomed Fiyero's bride into their house in White Springs with open arms. They all settled into a new routine, as a family. However, it was clear that Elphaba missed the relationships she'd formed with Mae and Tessy. They had brought her through some of hardest times of her life, and although she wouldn't easily admit it, she loved them dearly. So, after about a month, the family made the decision to move to Amber Plains, where they could live on the land owned by Mae and Wilbur.

Mae, who never failed to speak her mind, had determined shortly after Elphaba and Fiyero's wedding that Dorothy and her family should be near them as well. With a sparkle in her eye, she had fussed about how many years they'd all spent apart, not realizing there was blood between them. She'd also picked up rather quickly on how destitute Emily and Henry were, and how much Dorothy could benefit from having acres of farmland to explore. So Mae and Wilbur had set themselves to work. With the help of their staff, they rearranged their home a bit, and then set about refurbishing the guest house that overlooked the pond on the western edge of their property. It took them just over a month, with the clear, summer weather helping them along.

And now, just as fall had started to ripen the barley, Fiyero and his family were living in the refurbished guesthouse. Emily, Henry, and young Dorothy had taken up residence in the main house, which was already bustling with Mae, Wilbur, Tessy and Adrian. It was a good, if chaotic, situation, and Mae often looked as content as a hen in a heap of spilled corn. For the woman who had lost her only child so tragically, she had a measure of recompense. To Fiyero, it seemed like they'd filled the hole in her heart, finally.

It was good for all of them, he thought, to have a bit of normalcy. They were an odd menagerie of a family, all sporting a measure of heartbreak. In addition to Mae's tragedy, there was the loss of Dorothy's parents, and Fiyero's stint in a Dallas prison. There was the typhoid that had nearly claimed his life, not to mention Elphaba's trip to the brink of madness before she'd come to Kansas. They had all been a bit broken by what life had given them.

_So it's time, _Fiyero often told himself, _for us all to have some peace, some happiness even._

Still, Fiyero knew Elphaba well. He remembered her untamable zeal from so many years ago, shared with him in the inky darkness of the corn exchange. He remembered how he'd feared she would disappear at any time, without a trace. Now, perhaps that fear had faded some. Still, he saw that she and Dorothy would go for long walks into the scrubby trees on the edge of the barley fields under the premise that they were working on Dorothy's lessons. Fiyero knew, however, that they were pondering things beyond the rolling plains of the great state of Kansas. He knew they were most likely making trips to Oz. After all, they were Children of Both Worlds, and their alliance was growing as strong as their hatred for one another had once been.

He also noticed how Elphaba would sit with Tessy on Mae's porch until well after dark, telling her stories of Oz. He saw the fire in his wife's eyes as she recounted the injustices, the political imbalance, and also the beauty and richness of her homeland. Fiyero also watched her disappear on long rides into the empty fields astride Jasper, her body melding with the stallion's, her black hair mimicking the horse's mane. There was a bond between them that couldn't be understood by those who'd never spoken with an animal.

And in spite of her domestication, Fiyero knew there were things about Elphaba that would never change to fit the society around her. She let her hair fly loose in the wind when she wanted, and she often donned men's trousers, tucked into her riding boots, as she and jasper galloped across the plains. She addressed men and women alike with her quick, sharp tongue, and she refused to concede to those who thought of her as 'colored'. She offered no apologies for being undeniably unique. She was softer, calmer even, than she'd been fifteen years ago when Fiyero had been ripped away from her, but there was still a thirst in her for more than just an average life. Elphaba would do more than just live out her days tending a farmhouse. Fiyero knew that. What he didn't know was when, or how, she would choose her next mission.

So he waited, content in the moment. He let her and Dorothy scheme together. He encouraged her as she and Mae grew closer, and she let herself open up further. He would kiss her softly and leave her to talk for hours with Tessy. He watched with quiet understanding as she sat by the pond and just stared into the western sky. He pretended not to notice when she sat up for hours by the lamplight, pouring over books and muttering what might be spells. Fiyero let Elphaba be. He loved her, fiercely, but he loved her like one loves a great, sky bird. And he never forgot his promise, to let her fly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It was on the first truly cool day of fall that Elphaba received the letter. She and Tessy were sitting on Mae's porch, as had become their way. They were more like sisters than either would admit, and they were as content in silence as they were chatting.

After a long, quiet moment, Tessy said softly, "I've been hoping, recently…that there might be a baby…"

Elphaba cut her eyes toward Tessy, startled.

"Not _you_," Tessy chuckled, "for me."

Elphaba's lips twitched in a slight smile of relief.

Breaking into a broad grin, Tessy asked, "Would it really be so bad? To have a child of your own?"

"I've got plenty more children to deal with than I ever wanted. The last thing I need is a squalling infant," Elphaba snapped.

"Come on," Tessy was undeterred by her friend's harshness, "You're much more maternal than you realize. I've seen your heart, Elphie, with the animals…"

"Animals aren't babies," Elphaba retorted, "They're content to go their own way once they're mended."

"I see," Tessy said reluctantly, and there was a brief silence.

After a time, Elphaba quietly added, "And I believe I've already proven my inadequacy at raising the child I did birth."

Tessy started to argue, but she didn't want to open the wound. Elphaba had mentioned Liir on so very few occasions, that it still remained a taboo subject. The son she'd inadvertently abandoned was clearly not something Elphie could make herself confront, even with the security of having Fiyero in her life. So Tessy let it go.

Just then, there was a welcome distraction. The postman came up the dusty pathway with a parcel of letters in his hand. Offering a lopsided smile, he tipped his hat to them.

"Mornin' ladies," he greeted them, "you've had some mail pile up this week. Thought I'd bring it out early," he handed the letters to Elphaba and asked lightly, "Have any gossip for the idle ladies in town?"

Smirking, Elphaba threw out, "Tell them we're just as crazy as always, out here on the Proctor farm."

With a hearty chuckle, the postman turned to leave.

"Have a good afternoon, Sal," Tessy called after him.

Still smiling, Elphaba flipped through the envelopes. There was a letter from Jeremiah, Fiyero's eldest adopted child, who'd decided to remain in White Springs with his young family to tend the land their family owned. There was also news from one of Mae's distant cousins, and some sort of notice from the bank. The last envelope was a bit of a mystery, since neither Tessy nor Elphaba recognized the return address at first. It was addressed to Elphaba, however, so she carefully tore open the envelope and unfolded the paper.

Scrawled in neat penmanship was a letter from the man Elphaba knew as the Professor, Thomas Friedrick. Pouring over his words, she felt her heartbeat quicken slightly. After the usual pleasantries, he got to his point with a degree of urgency:

_…I have been hoping you would return to Boston at some point so that we might continue our discussion regarding your family history and unusual abilities. I do understand, however, that you have family obligations in Kansas. It is never my intention to be too forward or intrusive into your life. You abilities are fascinating, but you are a person before you are a subject of my research…_

That sentence brought up a warm feeling in Elphaba's chest, because she'd spent so many years wondering if she was, in fact, a person of any worth. Moving on, she read:

_…I believe that I have stumbled onto something that might be of great interest to both of us. I have a few colleagues, both in Boston and across the Atlantic in Europe, who share my rather unusual theories. One of them contacted me regarding a strange occurrence about which he's heard. He overheard some folks in London talking about a woman who seems to simply 'appear' and 'disappear' without explanation. The details are somewhat muddled, but the people were quite adamant. Naturally, most folks would dismiss this as nonsense, or insanity, and it could prove to be another dead end, but it obviously piqued my interest. I would very much like to travel to London to meet with my colleague and look into this story. I was hoping that you might be interested in accompanying me. You are more than welcome to bring a companion, and I would ensure the accommodations would be made appropriate for two women to travel…_

Elphaba went on to finish the letter, which was signed with a flourish by the Professor. Then she sat there for a moment, lost in thought.

"Elphie?" Tessy asked after a long moment.

Elphaba shook herself and said, "I'm sorry. It's a letter from the Professor, in Boston."

"Adrian's professor?" Tessy asked in return.

Elphaba nodded, "He wants me to come to London with him."

"London?" Tessy's eyes widened, "why in the world?"

"He's gotten word of someone else who might…be like me."

"As in…someone from another world? Someone from…Oz?" Tessy's expression became more amazed.

"Yes…as crazy as that still sounds," Elphaba answered.

"Well, crazy or not, it's been Adrian's course of study for some time."

"Do you think he'd want to go back to Boston? To explore whatever this might be? Or whoever this might be?" Elphaba asked frankly.

Tessy cocked her head, "Maybe…but a part of me thinks he's enjoying the break…from all the studying."

"I suppose I can understand that," Elphaba mused.

There was another long silence.

"But you want to go, don't you?" Tessy finally added.

Elphaba studied the letter for another long moment, and then whispered, "Yes, I do."

"Even if you have to leave Fiyero?" Tessy pressed further.

Elphaba took a breath, and said, "I love him, Tessy, but he's always known who I am, what I am. And, since I've been here, I can't help wondering what's become of Oz. And there's a certain sense of justification, in learning about what I am…"

In this rare moment of frank, honesty, Tessy simply nodded.

"And the longer I'm here," Elphaba continued, "the more I realize what a state of devastation I left Oz in," she took a breath, "I want to go to school. I want to study the veterinary sciences, as you call it. I never want to stop learning, but…I've left a lot of things undone in the Land of Oz, and I think I might be ready to face them, now. And if there's more of us out there...I want to know."

Very softly, Tessy said, "I think I can understand that."

"I have to go," Elphaba blurted out a few minutes later. She leapt from her chair and scurried across the yard in a whirl of fabric.

Tessy looked after her, feeling a twist of sadness for Fiyero, and herself as well. It appeared that it was time for Elphaba to fly once more.

* * *

In a month's time, Elphaba was seated in a passenger car on the Northeastern Express, making the long trip to Boston once more. The ride was a bit bumpy for her liking, but the accommodations were nice enough. The professor had been true to his word, and the compartment was well appointed.

However, unlike Elphaba's last trek across the country, Adrian had decided not to accompany her this time. It was clear that he and Tessy wanted to grow their young marriage, and that had taken the place of Adrian's studies for a time. As brilliant as he was, he needed to follow his heart for a while. So Elphaba had assured him she would send news, and she'd chosen Dorothy as her companion.

She was certain there was some sort of incredible irony in the fact that the girl who'd once tried to kill her was now becoming her accomplice, her friend, even. However, there was an unmistakable bond forming between them. The young girl, Elphaba's niece, was flourishing because of her newfound sense of identity. Learning about her connection to Elphaba, to the Wizard, even, and understanding there was a reason for her fanciful and frightening trip to Oz, had made her more confident.

Just as Elphaba had been whittled and softened by her own experiences, Dorothy's relationship with Elphaba had matured her. She stood taller, and dressed more often in the straight skirts of a young lady than pinafores and bows. She'd also taken to clasping her rolling, chestnut hair behind her head in the style of the older school girls. It was good, Elphaba thought, that the girl was finding herself. She had much more promise, and she was much more intelligent, than anyone had given her credit for. Elphaba, however, very rarely gave those compliments aloud. She simply asked Dorothy to accompany her on the trip. The young girl had bit her lip to hide her giddy pleasure, and nodded.

And now they rumbled along the tracks, headed toward something that would either be a great adventure, or a disappointing dead end. Either way, though, they would get to see London. For Dorothy, it was like being released from a flat, wheat-strewn prison. For Elphaba, it was a way to satisfy her thirst for knowledge. And for both of them, it was perhaps a chance to see Oz again, if this person about whom the Professor wrote was indeed another Child of Both Worlds. As she sat on the train, considering the notion, Elphaba felt a twinge of something, like a slight change in the air or an electric current up her spine. She shook it off, deciding she was simply anxious, and focused on her journey ahead.

* * *

In Boston, seated in front of the Professor's large, somewhat disorganized desk, Elphaba could see that Dorothy was a bit afraid. She twisted her fingers together and studied the wall of large books behind Professor Friedrick's chair. Elphaba gave her a slight nod, hoping to indicate that they needn't be afraid. Dorothy drew a long, slow breath, and gave Elphaba a tiny smile in return.

When the Professor entered the room, he greeted them with a warm smile, and insisted on taking Elphaba's hand in greeting, "It's very good to see you again," he said eagerly.

Elphaba gave him a nod and said, "Likewise."

"And you've brought a guest?" the Professor raised his eyebrows at Dorothy.

"Yes. This is Dorothy Gayle. She is another one…" Elphaba hesitated, "She's like me."

The Professor's eyes widened, "Really?"

"Yes, but she's still a child, and I promised her Aunt and Uncle that I'd return her in one piece. So there won't be any studying her without me being present," Elphaba demanded sternly.

The Professor smiled, "Of course not. There's only so much we could truly study about this phenomenon anyway. Mostly, what I can learn is based on what you tell me. The difference between me and so many others is that I believe your stories, no matter how fantastic they are."

"So you believe that Dorothy can travel with me to Oz, simply because I've told you?" Elphaba raised her eyebrow.

"Yes," the Professor answered.

"And you believe this rumor? That there's someone else like us?"

"Maybe," he answered, "I won't know unless we can find this person and talk to her. Unfortunately, this is how my research on this subject usually goes. All I can do is wait to hear a story or a piece of gossip about someone with unusual abilities, and then try to follow the lead. In fact, I never really believed I could conclusively study the idea of multiple worlds until Adrian stumbled on you. I can't even publish my ideas without risking ridicule and losing my position here. This is extremely inexact science. So to answer your question, I have no idea what we'll find in London. We may find nothing. But because of you, and now Dorothy, I'm at least willing to consider there might be some truth to this story."

Elphaba nodded slowly, considering. Eventually, she said, "You know…if this ever gets out, if people realize what we are and what you study, we would be called all kinds of crazy."

The Professor nodded.

Elphaba turned to Dorothy, "And you realize the risk we're taking, by even talking about this? Even in Oz, we would be ridiculed and feared."

"They once called you a witch…" Dorothy said very quietly.

"And they'll call you the same," Elphaba said sternly, "if they find out what we can do."

Dorothy cocked her head to the side and said, "Or, maybe they'll call us wizards, and make us their leaders."

Elphaba was taken aback, and then let the idea roll around in her head before she answered, "No…they already know me, they fear me."

"But not me," Dorothy said softly.

There was a long, palpable silence, with all of them considering the possibilities of what a twelve year-old girl had just said.

Eventually, the Professor spoke up, "I suppose that's all speculation right now. There will certainly be a lot of questions that don't have answers. For now, why don't you go back to your room at the hotel and get some rest? Our ship leaves in two days, and you'll want to be fresh for the voyage. The trip can be a grueling one."

Both Dorothy and Elphaba nodded, and took their leave. Assuring the Professor they would meet him in two days time for the trip to port, they headed out of his office and back down to the streets below.

They walked most of the way back to their hotel in silence. For Elphaba, thinking of what was to come gave her a little twinge of excitement. For the first time in her life, she was developing a definite sense of identity. She didn't feel like just an anomaly, a freak of nature, or some sort of tribute to sin. She was a doctor to animals, and a good one. She was the veterinarian for Amber Plains, and she knew they missed her. She had a place, a home, to return to. However, she also had more potential than she'd ever imagined. She and Dorothy were a result of a collision of two worlds, and Elphaba was starting to believe they were far more powerful than anyone realized. She wondered if even the wizard had realized how powerful people of their kind could be. It gave her a surge of purpose, to wonder if she and Dorothy could use that power to make a difference, in either world.

But finally, most importantly, Elphaba was Fiyero's wife. It still seemed a bit domestic for her, but she knew her heart would always be his. Her identity was made complete by knowing he loved her fiercely. Yet, true to his word, he didn't tie her down. He loved her enough to let her go.

"I told you," he had said when she'd explained to him about the Professor's letter, "if you wanted to travel, to study, that I would understand. I'll never hold you back."

Elphaba had smiled, "I know, but…what if there are more people like me? What if…this takes us back to Oz?"

Fiyero had kissed her softly, "Then stay away from the water."

She had laughed, which still came out in a shrill cackle, and then asked, "Would you want to come with me?"

Fiyero had shaken his head, "No...my place is here, with the children. I know where I belong, and so do you. What does it matter if that makes us unconventional?"

Elphaba had kissed him fiercely, then, for being so wonderful. Then, he had carried her up to their bedroom and made love to her. Warm, sweating, and wrapped in their sheets, he had held her until dawn, when it was time go.

And later, when she'd boarded the train, he'd said, "I love you, Fae. So go, fly. When you need to land, I'll be here. We'll all be here."

Now, making their way up to the hotel room, Elphaba knew that grounding herself in him was mostly likely the very thing that gave her the confidence to make this journey. She glanced at Dorothy, and wondered if the little girl hadn't grounded herself in Elphaba in the same way. It was a bit of a burden, to think that a child was depending on her for purpose, guidance even. But there wasn't time to dwell on it. Dorothy was here, and London lay ahead. So they settled in, and waited for the next leg of the trip.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

It was a week's journey by ship from Boston to Southampton, and then another several hours by train into London. Overall, the Professor had not been exaggerating when he called the journey grueling. Even with clean, if somewhat stark, second-class cabins, they were all feeling somewhat seasick by the time they reached land. Their clothes needed a good airing, and the food had left something to be desired. Then, the train trip further rattled their tired bones and aching heads.

So, upon arrival in London, the Professor settled them in a quaint, clean inn. While Dorothy and Elphaba settled their things and went in search of a bathtub, he set off for the office of one of his colleagues a few blocks down.

Finally finding a tub and a good pot for boiling water in the kitchen of the inn, the girls took their turns in the washroom bathing and scrubbing their hair and clothes clean. Then, exhausted, they settled in for a decent night's sleep.

The following morning, seated in the communal kitchen on the first floor of the inn, the Professor sipped his coffee with an excited gleam in his eyes. Dorothy ate hungrily, trying to keep her newly washed hair out of her food. She had her napkin draped over her yellow, high-waisted dress that made her look older than twelve. Elphaba wore a basic black dress, as usual, but she'd made sure it was one with long sleeves and a high collar. She didn't need to stir up the feelings of the folks here like she had in Amber Plains. This was a trip for blending in. She had her hair carefully knotted behind her head, and the professor had donned a basic, brown suit with a clean, white shirt.

Clearing his throat, he said, "I think it might be best if we allow people to think we're simply a family, traveling for pleasure. People will most likely assume that anyway, and we don't need to raise unnecessary questions. It's already highly unusual, for two women to be traveling alone with a man my age.

Elphaba studied the Professor, and had to concede that he was right. He carried himself with a certain dignity, but his silver-tinged hair and mustache didn't age him enough for him to pass as Elphaba's father. Likewise, her chiseled features and sharp expressions did not allow her to be believable as a daughter. So husband and wife it would have to be.

"We need to be as unassuming as possible," the Professor continued, "We're going to ask some unusual questions, and we don't need to attract any more attention than is necessary."

Elphaba snorted and looked around, as several of the other guests were already gawking at her, "Unfortunately, Professor Friedrick, I always seem to attract attention."

He glanced around, and looked momentarily unsettled, "Ah yes…I suppose I do forget your coloring. I don't really see it anymore…"

It was a genuine compliment, but Elphaba didn't have time to enjoy it. She sipped her coffee and considered how they would ever manage not to attract attention.

Suddenly, Dorothy looked over at a woman sitting near them who was staring, open-mouthed, at Elphaba, and said, "Isn't it a bit rude? To be staring? My poor mother had such a terrible accident at the garment factory, and we nearly lost her. Now, she must also endure your incessant staring?"

Elphaba sucked in a breath, startled that the child had spoken out in such a way. No one said anything for a moment, waiting for the woman's reaction.

After a long moment, the woman asked, "Whatever kind of accident leaves a person…green?"

Dorothy sniffled, "A full dousing in a tub of green dye. Stained her skin and very nearly killed her. Took nearly a month for her to get over the poisoning from swallowing some of it."

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room shifted every so slightly. The shocked looks on the guests' faces became subdued with hints of compassion.

"Well," the woman next to them finally closed her mouth, "I've never heard of such an accident."

"Neither had we," the professor cut his eyes toward Elphaba, "Until it happened."

Elphaba looked around, waiting for everyone to burst into laughter at such a ridiculous story. Yet, somehow, they all swallowed the tale and started to give Elphaba compassionate glances. As is often the case, such an entirely ridiculous story was more believable to the average person than the truth. Elphaba realized that the idea of being born green was inconceivable to them, and was cause for fear and panic. However, being told that a person could somehow be dyed green was believable, and was cause for pity. The whole idea of it made Elphaba bite her lip to hold back laughter.

After another awkward minute, the room settled back into normal chatter. Deciding it was best not to say anything further, the three of them finished their breakfast and then made their way outside into the foggy morning. Pulling a hat low over her brow to keep the questioning and staring to a minimum, Elphaba said, "Really Dorothy? Green dye?"

The young girl gave a mischievous smile, "It worked, didn't it?"

"That it did," the Professor chuckled.

"So…that's what we're going to tell people? That I colored myself? Like a rug or a petticoat?" Elphaba snapped.

"Well, it's been said that truth is stranger than fiction. If they can't handle the truth, let them believe the fiction," the Professor answered.

Elphaba sighed, "All right…but it's a ridiculous story."

"But I think I told it right nicely. I had them convinced," Dorothy beamed.

Elphaba rolled her eyes, "You're a regular actress. Maybe you're bound for Vaudeville."

"Maybe…" Dorothy smiled, not rejecting the idea.

"Well, let's get on with this, then," the Professor led the way down the street.

Following the cobblestone way, they traveled a few blocks north, and then three blocks east to a small, brownstone building tucked between a bank and a mercantile. The professor rapped on the door, and another man answered. He was short and wiry, with curling, silver hair and a pair of spectacles perched on his nose. He looked them over with bright eyes and ushered them inside. Climbing a set of stairs, they entered a well-kept, if sparse, residence. The man offered them seats on the sofa and settee, and they all sat down.

"Would you like tea?" the man asked in the same, crisp accent they'd heard since disembarking in Southampton.

"No, we've just eaten," the Professor answered.

"All right, let's get to the point, then," the other man addressed Elphaba and Dorothy, "My name is Professor Pettler, and I've been a colleague of Thomas' since he was a student in Germany. I've retired, now, but he and I have always shared some rather…unusual interests."

The Professor spoke up, "As physicists, we've both been fascinated with the idea that there might be other worlds beyond this one. We've often wondered if anyone could ever cross such a boundary…"

"And now, it seems, Thomas claims the two of you are what we like to call _Tempus Viator._"

The two older men looked from Elphaba to Dorothy expectantly.

Elphaba spoke up, "I suppose that's what they call us."

"So you've really done it? You've really traveled to another world?" Professor Pettler asked eagerly.

Elphaba snorted again, "Yes, although I have to say that some of those trips have been…unpleasant."

"How so?"

"It appears that if you nearly die, you might just arrive naked," Elphaba snapped.

"And if you're trapped in your house and panicking, you might take the whole house with you," Dorothy added.

"And you can send others between worlds, if you're not careful," Elphaba whispered, remembering Fiyero.

The Professors looked on in awe for a moment.

"Could you try, now?" Professor Friedrick finally asked.

Alarmed, Elphaba asked, "Here?"

The two men nodded.

She looked to Dorothy, who looked equally uncertain.

"And what if the whole house disappears, or if our clothes go missing?" Elphaba demanded.

Dorothy spoke up, "We have been practicing…and we've managed to avoid those things…"

"And the practice was to supposed to be a secret," Elphaba snapped.

Dorothy just looked at her, hopeful.

"Fine," Elphaba gave in, "but don't blame me if all chaos breaks out. It seems to be the story of my life, to ruin things."

Without a word, Dorothy turned to face Elphaba and took her hands. Slowly, the two of them knelt on the floor. Leaning towards each other and squeezing their eyes closed, they cleared their minds. With practiced concentration, they summoned an indescribable power within. In a silent flash, the two were gone, leaving only a slight change in the air in the room. Nothing moved, and yet it felt as though a slight breeze had moved through. The Professors looked at each other, and were nearly giddy.

A moment later, Elphaba and Dorothy returned, plucking leaves from their clothes from where they'd landed in the Great, Gillikin Forest, in Oz.

"Is that proof enough?" Elphaba asked.

Neither of the older men could find words. Dorothy giggled and took a seat on the sofa again.

"That is…astounding," Professor Pettler managed to say.

"And these are really leaves…from an other-world forest?" Professor Friedrick asked, plucking a few from the floor to study.

Elphaba nodded, growing impatient, "Yes. We tend to take any small objects we're touching with us. Now," she started, "It's our turn. Tell me about this rumor...about someone like us."

Conceding to the green woman's demands, Professor Pettler spoke up, "I wish I had more to tell you than this. I was in the park more than two months ago, when I heard some children talking about their caregiver, a sort of Au Pair, perhaps, who 'came from the sky' and took them on outings to magical places. It seemed to be a fanciful, children's story, except that their description of this person seemed far too conventional. Most magical fairies or heroes that children invent don't make them clean their rooms and wash their faces."

"Wait," Elphaba stopped him, "Are you telling me that you're basing all your information on a story you overheard…from _children_?"

Professor Pettler nodded, "Children are the least jaded of all of us. They say what they see, honestly."

"They also make up imaginary friends and fantastic creatures that have no basis in reality!" Elphaba shouted, feeling both angry and disappointed.

"And what is reality?" Professor Friedrick spoke up, "Until recently, my reality was that traveling between worlds was impossible. Clearly, I was wrong."

Elphaba rolled her eyes, frustrated, "I'm not saying the stories of children are _impossible_, but I am saying they are not based in anyone's reality!"

"Perhaps," Professor Pettler admitted, "but there's a chance…"

Elphaba looked away, annoyed.

"And," he continued, "several months ago there was a Park Keeper who was dismissed from his post for raving on and on about seeing a woman who could fly."

"He might just be certifiably insane," Elphaba snapped.

"Maybe. Or maybe not," Professor Pettler answered.

"So what do you suggest?" Elphaba asked, "That we go to the park and start asking people if they've seen someone flying around? If you'll recall, neither Dorothy nor I can _fly._ We can _disappear_."

Elphaba chose not to divulge that she was quite adept at flying in Oz. It seemed unimportant, and not quite believable, in this world.

"What I suggest," the professor answered, "is that we observe. The park I'm telling you about is just across the street from the inn where you're staying. I've been watching it for months, and I'm afraid I've worn out my welcome. Standing on the street corners in the wee hours of the morning tends to make the local law enforcement uneasy. However, perhaps you can observe from the less obvious vantage of your window, or rooftop."

Elphaba stared at him incredulously, "This is ridiculous."

"So is the idea of Oz, but I believe you," he said softly.

There was a long moment when they were all very quiet.

Eventually, Dorothy turned to Elphaba and said, "Please, Auntie Fae? We've come all this way…"

With a sigh, Elphaba gave in, "Fine. I'll watch the skies. Although being so idle may kill me."

Dorothy beamed, and the professors tried to conceal their satisfaction.

* * *

What began as a rather exciting vigil become more and more tedious as the weeks went by. Time slipped through their fingers with days spent talking with the Professors, allowing them to glean whatever they could from both Elphaba's and Dorothy's stories about Oz. The men would write furiously and ask questions as the two girls talked. It was nice, sometimes, to talk about the Land of Oz without being criticized. Still, even Dorothy was growing tired of all the talking. More so, they were weary of all the watching.

At night, they would go up to the rooftop balcony and watch the skies above the inn and the adjacent park. Deciding for themselves that someone who could fly wouldn't risk doing so in broad daylight, they chose night for their observation. However, they were disappointed daily. The night sky only revealed stars or rolling clouds, and occasionally misting rain. There was no sign of a magical woman, or man, or anything for that matter. It was disheartening, and Elphaba was beginning to think they should return home.

Fiyero wrote her a long letter, to let her know that things were well at home. It took several weeks for his letter to arrive, but Elphaba was glad to have it. In spite of her fierce independence, she missed him. So she wrote back, even though she wondered if they wouldn't be home before he got her correspondence. Still, she told him about her frustrations with the trip. Then she sealed the letter carefully and mailed it one afternoon as the weather was turning quite cold.

Returning to the inn for supper that day, Elphaba and the others all had a bit of soup before retiring to their rooms. Still optimistic, Dorothy climbed up the stairs to the tiny balcony between the gables to watch the starry sky once again. The hopes of a child were harder to dash than those of a somewhat embittered adult. Elphaba curled up on the chaise in their room with a book, and let the sun set as she lost herself in the pages. She was so engrossed, she was startled when Dorothy came clamoring down the stairs some time later.

"Auntie! Auntie!" she exclaimed, "Come see this!"

Dorothy nearly drug Elphaba out of the chaise and up the tiny staircase. There was barely enough room for them to both fit on the tiny balcony.

Pointing into the sky above the trees in the park, Dorothy breathed, "Look."

As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Elphaba could make out what might be a figure descending into the trees. For a moment, she wondered whether it might be a trick of the light or simply their collective imagination. Then, she felt a rush of possibility. Suddenly, she had a renewed sense of interest, and of purpose. If this was a person, if it was _her_, she wanted to know.

So Elphaba tore back down the stairs, with Dorothy close behind. Forgetting their coats in the rush, they skittered down the twisting stairs of the inn and slipped out onto the street. Trying to run without calling too much attention to themselves, they crossed the street and headed into the heavy foliage of the park. Barely making out the path in front of them, they cut through the most open part of the park in the direction Elphaba thought she'd seen a figure. Their trajectory led them to densest corner, where the trees were allowed to grow unpruned. Slowed by the undergrowth, they picked their way through as quickly as possible. Then, just as they were ready to stop and catch their breath, Elphaba caught a glimpse of movement.

Stopping suddenly, she squinted into the inky darkness. Relying on senses honed from years of being somewhat of a fugitive herself, she tried to follow what she'd seen. Finally fixing on what appeared to be a moving shadow, she shushed Dorothy and quietly followed. Cutting a wide path around toward the direction she thought the figure was moving, they emerged onto the sidewalk on the far, opposite side of the park. Waiting like a stalking predator, Elphaba stood just at the tree line. She held Dorothy perfectly still, and waited.

After a long moment, a person emerged from the trees. Clasping what might be a walking stick, she moved in a flurry of skirts from the trees and headed across the street. Elphaba soundlessly followed, allowing the person to stay a bit ahead. Finally, when the shadowy figure turned into an alley, she quickly followed. With Dorothy just behind her, Elphaba quickened her pace until she was just a few yards behind what was now clearly a woman.

In a quiet but clear voice, Elphaba called out, "So you fly, do you?"

The woman stopped and turned. Although she was still cloaked in darkness, she said, "I've absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

Her voice came out light and airy, with the crisp accent they'd grown accustomed to here.

Elphaba took a step closer, "You won't get rid of me with a simple lie. I saw you."

"It's awfully impertinent of you to chase me down in darkness and accuse me of such an impossibility," the woman retorted.

"Maybe I have a different idea of what's impossible," Elphaba shot back.

"Believe what you like, it's still a bit rude to be following me like this."

"You're the one wandering around in the dark. Maybe you're lucky it was me following you and not something more sinister."

"Perhaps you're right, but I think I can take care of myself, thank you," the woman answered.

Dorothy spoke up then, saying, "But you did fly! We saw you! So you might be one of us…"

At the sound of Dorothy's voice, the woman became very still. Slowly, she turned to look at Elphaba and her younger companion. Just then, the clouds parted above them and revealed the round, opalescent moon. The silvery light illuminated the three people standing in a dark, quiet alley, and they were all very still. The other woman took in Elphaba with a little startle, and as she stood there, Elphaba studied her.

She was striking in her perfection. That was Elphaba's first observation. She was more than just beautiful, she didn't look real, and Elphaba had seen her share of beautiful people. Galinda had been fair, golden, and undeniably pretty, with her sky-blue eyes and perfect smile. Still, this stranger had a different kind of beauty. She was as tall as Elphaba, and stood ramrod straight. Her dark hair was perfectly twisted into a knot that was both feminine and practical. Yet she had curls at her face that kept her from looking too severe. Her features were flawless, from her soft, straight nose to lips that looked drawn with a stroke of a painter's brush. She kept her jaw forward, thrusting out a perfect chin as she studied Elphaba with heavily lashed, almond-shaped eyes.

As the woman finally turned and faced them fully, Elphaba tore her eyes from the perfect face, and took in the rest of her. Even while running through an alley in pitch dark, she was dressed impeccably. Over a crisp shirtwaist and well-fitted, bustled skirt, she wore a good, black waistcoat that was cinched to show off her slender frame. It was clasped in front with the lapels carefully tailored. From beneath the folds of the skirt, Elphaba could just make out tightly laced, black walking boots. She also wore a hat, small and practical, carefully pinned in her hair. From up close, they could also tell that the walking stick was actually a well-made umbrella.

Standing there for some time, none of them moved. They studied each other without a word, each of them unsure how to proceed.

After a moment, the woman turned to walk away, saying, "I don't suppose we have anything else to say to one another. It's very late and I must be going."

As she turned her back, Elphaba called out, "I come from Oz, and Dorothy has been there."

In spite of herself, the woman stopped.

"If that means nothing to you," Elphaba continued, "then keep walking. But if it does…"

"Please," Dorothy spoke up, "she might be green, but she's not so bad."

Elphaba grit her teeth in the darkness, "We saw you fly," she echoed, "and I've done so myself…in Oz."

There was more silence then, and Dorothy and Elphaba waited. The woman in front of them stood very still, as though fixed in place like a perfect sculpture. With her back to them, she stood perfectly straight, with her hands resting on the top of her umbrella. Staring up at the stars, she gave no answer. And Elphaba waited. In the pearly shaft of moonlight, they waited.

* * *

**Now...I'm going ask for you to please send me your thoughts, even if it's just confusion or some criticism. I would really like to have some feedback as I decide how to procede. I'll admit, I often write things just for myself, so I'll keep doing this either way, however I'd like to know if I've drummed up any interest. Thanks.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Just a quick note...first to say thanks for the reviews, and the interest. :-) Also, in this story, the character of Bert follows more of the musicalverse way of things. Although Dick Van Dyke is one of the great character actors of our time, I needed this Bert to be younger, and bit darker. I needed him to feel a bit less imposing, when compared to Mary. I think, after all, that he's a bit intimidated by the perfection. I also need Mary to be more of a force, which is also more musicalverse. So...there you go.**

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* * *

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**Chapter 4**

After a very long moment, where both Elphaba and Dorothy barely breathed, the other woman finally turned. Facing them with her hands still resting atop her umbrella, she spoke.

"I am certain I have no idea what you're talking about, and even if I did, I'm also certain I would not be interested. I don't know where Oz might be, but I wish you well in returning there. Perhaps you should go quickly, before someone else realizes there's a very green woman wandering around London at night."

Elphaba drew a quick breath, and tried to soften her reply, "I've been _wandering_ around for several weeks now. People will get used to anything, if you give them time. And the reason I've been stuck here, staring at the sky for hours on end, is to be able to talk to _you._"

"Then I'm afraid this is going to have been a disappointing journey for you," the other woman stated with a little sniff.

"Please?" Dorothy spoke up again, "We just want to talk…"

The woman softened a little, "Stand up straight child. Although you're quite a lovely girl, I'm certain we have very little in common about we which we might chat."

"But," Dorothy began to sound defeated, "you _have_ to be one of us! There's no other reason for you to be able to…"

"What?" the woman cocked her head.

"Fly."

The woman gave a silvery peal of laughter, "Ah, the fancies of children. That would be a fantastic outing indeed, going for a flight. However, it's very late and time for children to be in bed."

"What's an outing?" Dorothy turned to Elphaba, confused.

Elphaba sighed, "I have no idea. It must be _her_ way of talking about fun."

"I would certainly love to fly…maybe she'll take us!" Dorothy bubbled.

"Not now, child!" Elphaba shushed her.

While they struggled with what to do next, the other woman turned on her heel and began to scurry away. Heaving a sigh and trudging after her, Elphaba tried not to voice how aggravated she felt. The other woman managed to round the corner onto the street a few beats before them, however. When Elphaba and Dorothy turned to follow her, she was gone. They stood there for a moment, unsure of what had just happened.

"She's gone…" Dorothy whispered, "She can disappear too!"

Elphaba ran her fingers through her disheveled hair in frustration, "I suppose she can. And a lot of good that does us. Come on…it's freezing out here and this is getting us nowhere."

Dorothy struggled to catch up as Elphaba stormed off. With the unflappable excitement of a young girl, she insisted, "But we really found her! There really is someone else!"

"Unfortunately, in spite of your excitement, I think I've lost my patience with this tonight," Elphaba grumbled.

"But we'll find her again, won't we Auntie Fae?" Dorothy asked softly.

Elphaba didn't answer, and they traveled the rest of the way to the inn in silence.

* * *

The following morning, over a breakfast of some sort of strange biscuits that Elphaba had never seen before, they explained to Professor Friedrick about the previous evening.

"Wait," he stopped Elphaba just as she was explaining about stopping the strange woman in the alley, "Are you telling me you might have found this person I've been looking for, and you've waited until now to tell me?"

Elphaba grit her teeth and said, "I'm telling you that we found an obnoxious, pretentious snob who can in fact, disappear. Whether she's from Oz, I have no idea, and if she is, she certainly didn't run in my circles."

The Professor was undeterred in his happiness, though, "So you really spoke with her? You really saw her fly?"

"Yes," Elphaba snapped, "And disappear quite effectively."

"What are the chances," the Professor mused to himself in semi-shock, "that there would be three of you. To think, this was all just a theory a year ago…"

"Yes, well, the idea of something is often more romantic than the reality. I've learned that in my lifetime," Elphaba threw out.

"Now…we know where to find her. So we've just got to wait and watch again, and this time I'll be with you!" the Professor went on, undeterred.

Elphaba placed her hands on either side of her plate, trying to control her frustrated anger, "Professor, I have great respect for you, but I have no intention of going after that woman again. I have very little patience with snobbery. Even my own sister used to grate on my nerves before she died. As much as I've changed over the years, patience has never been my greatest virtue. So…before we go any further with this, I think I'd rather just go home."

"But Auntie!" Dorothy spoke up, "We have to know who she is!"

"Why?" Elphaba snapped.

"Because we might be family…"

"Just because someone is family, does not mean you necessarily want to know them," Elphaba shot back, not bothering to disguise how her own family had affected her.

The Professor finally spoke up, this time in a very even tone, "I'm sure she isn't as unpleasant as all that, and just think about what this means for my research! Just think about what we're uncovering here…"

Elphaba folded her arms across her chest, "Like you said before, sometimes truth is too strange for anyone to accept. No one would ever accept the idea of Oz, here, no matter how much research you conduct. Let's just let everyone believe there's this, and nothing more. Let this secret die with me, and Dorothy."

The Professor looked wounded, "Miss Elphaba…if this other woman is, in fact, another child of both worlds, then that makes of three of you. And you're thousands of miles apart. I think it would be safe to postulate, based on the data, that there may be many, many more. So…I think it's bigger than just you and Dorothy."

Elphaba hesitated, before asking, "So why don't you just go after her yourself? You know we exist…you don't need me to prove that anymore."

"But I need you to help me make the connection. If she barely tolerated your questions, she would certainly run from me."

Elphaba sighed, and she struggled with her next argument. A part of her simply wanted to go back to Kansas and vent her frustration to Fiyero. A tiny part of her, the part that had softened over the years, just wanted to be in his arms. However, she knew that would only placate her for a time. The greater part of her wanted to _know._ She wanted to understand the possibilities before her. She wondered if she might be more powerful than she'd realized. She wondered if, this time, she might have a real chance of helping the Animals of Oz, should she return. Still, her stomach turned at the idea of chasing that snippy woman around the streets of London.

Eventually, she said, "All right. I'll give you a few more weeks. But I need you to tell me what I should be doing, because I can't force someone to talk to me who keeps disappearing."

Dorothy beamed, then, and the Professor looked thoughtful, saying, "Perhaps you should talk to her in front of people. If you confront her in a public place, she won't be able to just vanish."

Elphaba chewed her lip in thought, "I suppose, that is, if she ever shows herself in front of people."

"Well, she must," the Professor replied, "I can't imagine she lives her life alone in the alleys of London…"

"She certainly didn't look like any bag lady I've ever seen…" Elphaba mused.

"She was quite lovely," Dorothy spoke up, clearly still excited that her adventure would continue.

Elphaba snorted, "Beauty doesn't guarantee any measure of character."

"I suppose that's true," the Professor admitted, "but we'll try to find her just the same."

Elphaba rubbed her temples, feeling a headache coming on, "So where does the fun begin?"

"The park," the Professor answered, "if she lands in the park, she must be nearby. So we'll spend the day in the park."

Elphaba conceded, and went to retrieve a book to pass the time.

* * *

Nearly a week later, even the open air of the park was starting to grow stifling. Elphaba sat, crossed-legged in spite of the strange looks she received, on the grass. Dorothy was sitting on a bench a few feet away, swinging her feet and watching the passersby. Elphaba had to give the girl credit, she certainly had stamina and patience, to put up with all this waiting for so many weeks. It was perhaps one of the traits that allowed Elphaba to keep tolerating the talkative child.

The visitors to the park had slowly grown accustomed to seeing Elphaba, much the same way they'd started to get used to her being in their neighborhood. The dye story had managed to filter through the people, as gossip will, and most of them regarded her with cautious acceptance. However, no one ever addressed her directly. Accustomed to being ignored, Elphaba was content with her books, while Dorothy scanned the park and played with the other children.

Suddenly, on this particular afternoon, Dorothy made a mad dash across the soft grass. Dodging some children playing with a hand-made jump rope, she disappeared into the crowd for a moment. Elphaba looked up, wondering how long she should wait before trudging after the impulsive girl. Turning back to her book, she started to finish the current page before looking for Dorothy. While she was still staring at the book, a voice broke her concentration.

"Auntie! Auntie! I've found her!"

Elphaba looked up, and her eyes widened. Dorothy was making her way back across the park, quite literally dragging the same woman from the other night behind her. Another young girl followed primly behind them. The woman looked quite alarmed at the scene they were causing.

Stopping in front of Elphaba, Dorothy refused to let go of the woman's hand, "You see! I've found her!"

Elphaba looked up, entirely unsure of how to proceed.

Dorothy rambled on to the other woman, "My name is Dorothy Gayle, but you can call me just Dorothy. This is my Auntie…Miss Elphaba. She's green."

"Well, that I can see," the other woman said snippily.

Elphaba started to close her book, and Dorothy asked, "And what is your name?"

The woman raised her chin and didn't answer, saying to Elphaba, "You know, it's quite improper for a lady to be sprawled out in the grass in such an immodest manner."

Elphaba felt the hot flame of her temper flare up within her. She stood, brushing off her dark skirt, and set her book on the bench, "So do you have a name?" she demanded.

"Her name is Mary Poppins," the other little girl suddenly spoke up in little more than a whisper.

Mary cut her a quick glance and said, "Adelaide, this doesn't concern you. Best you go play hopscotch with the others for a bit."

After the little girl shuffled away, Elphaba spoke up, "So it's Mary, then?"

"It's Mary Poppins, to you," the woman corrected.

"Then I suppose I'm Elphaba Thropp, to you."

"She's married, but she goes by her own name," Dorothy piped up.

Mary sniffed again, in a way that was grating on Elphaba's nerves, "I don't see how that could be a proper marriage, what, with no rings and spiting convention."

Elphaba stood up taller, realizing this woman was observing her a closely as Elphaba was studying her. Trying to stay calm, she stated, "I'm Elphaba Thropp, former Eminent Thropp of Munchkinland. I'm more than certain that you know what I'm talking about."

Mary cocked her head, "I haven't the faintest idea."

Elphaba clutched her hands into fists, "This is becoming far too difficult. If you absolutely refuse to acknowledge what I _know_ about you, then this can't go any further. But I can't believe that you can honestly tell me that you know nothing of Oz. I'm also very sure that no one else has asked you these questions. You've never met anyone else…like you…before."

Fixing the hat in her shining, chestnut-colored hair, Mary admitted, "You're right, I don't know that I've met anyone quite like me. Perfection is very hard to come by."

Unable to control her sharp tongue, Elphaba shot back, "I'll give you beauty, sure, but I think your attitude runs in contrast with 'perfect'"

Mary adjusted dainty gloves on her slender fingers, and then said, "It must be quite unpleasant for you, to be so very disagreeable and rude all the time."

Elphaba drew a quick breath, "And I suppose it must be unpleasant for you as well."

"Whatever do you mean?" Mary asked.

"To have a presumptuous stick up your ass _all the time_," Elphaba spat.

Mary drew a quick breath, and for a moment something more than vain indifference flickered over her face.

Dorothy's eyes widened, for even though she'd seen Elphaba's harsher side many times, she didn't want to be involved in a fight. Very carefully, she touched Elphaba's arm and said, "Auntie?"

Elphaba and Mary faced off for a moment, neither speaking.

Just then, Adelaide returned with a young man in tow. Holding his hand much like a daughter might grasp the fingers of her father, she said very quietly, "I've found Bert, Mary Poppins. Please can he come on our outing?"

Elphaba looked from the little to girl to Mary, and then to the young man. He was perhaps thirty, with an unkempt shock of dark hair and friendly eyes. He was a bit gangly, and not quite as tall as Mary. His clothing also ran in stark contrast to hers. Where she was all perfect creases and starched formality, he was somewhat disheveled and covered in smudges of charcoal and drawing chalks. He had a well-worn cap perched on his head, and looked at them somewhat expectantly.

"Well Mary," he said with a rolling, less precise accent than hers, "what 'ave you conjured up this time? A green person?"

Elphaba had reached the end of her patience, "She may be a lot of things, but _she_ did not conjure me up! I've come here only to find out if we have something very specific in common. Unfortunately, your Mary Poppins is trying the little patience I have left."

"What might you 'ave in common?" Bert asked with a curious glance.

"We have absolutely nothing in common," Mary snipped.

Elphaba took a step forward, angry, "You can fly. You can disappear. He clearly thinks you can _conjure_ things. I think we have a great deal in common. And if you refuse to recognize it, if you are determined to keep what you know to yourself, then you are just as bad as all the others in Oz. You are as bad as those who are too busy building emerald palaces to notice the plight of those around them. Or perhaps you're simply one of them, and I didn't realize…"

Mary looked down for the briefest moment, and Elphaba thought she might've caught a glimpse of uncertainty.

In the silence, it was Bert who spoke up, "Who are you, then?"

"My name is Elphaba Thropp, and I come from Oz, a place I think Miss Mary Poppins has visited more than a few times."

"Is that where we go, then?" Bert looked toward Mary in surprise, "And is she one of your magical creations?"

"She doesn't _create_," Elphaba stated, "Oz doesn't belong just to her, no matter what she's told you."

Mary finally drew a long breath and straightened her jacket. It was blue this time, with a matching, bustled skirt. She brushed invisible imperfections from her sleeve, and then met Elphaba's eyes, "There are some things that are better left alone, Miss Elphaba. You have your life, as it is, and I have mine. What I do with it is none of your concern. Now, we must be going."

With that, she turned on the heels of her polished boots and started away, umbrella in hand. Bert and Adelaide dutifully followed.

Suddenly, something occurred to Elphaba. It was a detail that, for some strange reason, stood out. She called out, "Why the umbrella? There's no sign of rain."

Mary turned once more, "You never know when it might rain. Good day."

She started across the park, with Bert and Adelaide trailing behind. She walked proudly, nose in the air and umbrella held rigidly in front of herself. Bert glanced back once, clearly still curious about what he'd just witnessed.

Elphaba waited a moment, and then seized Dorothy by the hand. Pulling her along, she said, "Come on."

"What?" Dorothy was surprised, having expected Elphaba to storm back to the inn in anger.

"I've not come all this way to be snubbed by _her._ If she's going to be against me, she's going to know what she's against."

With that, Elphaba led Dorothy carefully across the park, keeping a bit of distance between them and Mary. They were once again led to the far corner, where the trees were dense and few people ventured. Elphaba watched as Mary led the way a few yards into the trees, then took hold of Bert and Adelaide's hands, and disappeared.

On a sudden impulse, Elphaba pulled Dorothy toward the spot where the threesome had just disappeared. Grasping Dorothy's hands, she said, "I want you to focus on _her_. Now."

Closing her eyes, Elphaba did the same, and hoped.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

In a moment, Elphaba opened her eyes. Briefly, she thought nothing had happened. They were standing in the shade of the trees, with the chirping of nature around them. She quickly realized, however, that this was not the park in London. Looking around, she immediately recognized the dark Quoxwood, something that was not found outside of Oz. She determined by the crispness of the air that they must be somewhere in the Gillikin Forest. She couldn't be more precise than that for the moment.

Pressing her finger to her lips to tell Dorothy to be quiet, Elphaba scanned her surroundings. After a minute, she caught sight of Mary, leading Bert and Adelaide across a clearing in the trees. Standing in the clearing were several horses and, upon seeing them, Elphaba had a better idea of where she was. They were Glikkun horses, with shining, black coats and manes of pure white. Even the long, silken hairs around their large hooves and their tails were snowy white. The coloring was found only in this particular bloodline, which roamed the rolling land of northeastern Oz. Based on the horses, Elphaba guessed that they were just outside of the foothills of the Glikkus.

Turning their attention back to Mary, both she and Dorothy were in awe of what they saw next. With a wave of her hand, Mary managed to change all of their clothes to proper riding wear. Little Adelaide's cream dress was exchanged for a brightly colored sailor dress with shiny boots. Mary's very proper skirt and coat became a flowing dress in brightest rose, with white, ruffled sleeves and a wide-brimmed hat. Even Bert's shabby clothes became a proper pair of trousers, complete with a crisp white shirt and vest. Adelaide gave a little giggle as they mounted the horses. Mary assisted the little girl with a wave of her hand, and Adelaide floated up to her place on the horse's back.

As the threesome started to saunter away on the backs of the horses, Elphaba came to another realization. They were riding Horses. As they rode through the sun-dappled forest, she could see that the Animals were chatting easily with them. In addition, Mary summoned up the Birds from above the trees and had them swooping around their heads. She did all of this while sitting perfectly straight on the back of her Horse, with her legs primly crossed at the ankles. Elphaba could've guessed she would never dare to ride astride.

Dorothy finally whispered, "Did you see all of that Auntie? Isn't she just magical?"

Elphaba nodded, "She's something, for sure."

Motioning for Dorothy to follow, she followed the other party while staying in the denser tree line. Since the Horses kept a slow pace, they were able to keep up rather easily. Eventually, Mary waved her graceful hands yet again, and drew music out of the very air. Without instrument or musician, she conjured up a song, and then proceeded to sing. Her voice was as clear and true as Elphaba would have expected. She also wondered if Mary made up the words as easily as she'd conjured up the music, or if this was a song she sang on all her outings. The other Animals of the forest also came to her without fear, and often sang along. It was a spectacle that was entirely bizarre, and far too frivolous for someone as grounded and practical as Elphaba.

However, she'd also never seen anyone use magick with such ease and grace before. Not even Madame Morrible, with her mind-altering and persuasion spells, had this kind of fluid ability. Even Morrible needed the help of spells, chantings, and even tonics. Elphaba had never seen a sorceress such as this, and especially not one with the poise and vanity of Gillikin royalty. She was utterly confused, and more curious than she'd ever been.

As she watched, Mary and the others finally dismounted the Horses, and Adelaide took to picking wildflowers around the base of the trees. Bert followed suit, echoing Mary's song as she continued to sing. Suddenly, as she watched them, Elphaba saw something else, something that had little to do with magick. She saw the way Bert selected the brightest, fullest blossoms, and then presented them to Mary with a flourish. She saw how he followed her, hung on her every word, and made a point to touch her hand when he handed her the flowers. In their interaction, Elphaba saw something undeniably human, something that made them more than just implausible characters in this equally implausible scenario.

"Well," Elphaba said to herself, "it appears Bert is crazy enough to have fallen for the impossible snob."

"What?" Dorothy asked, confused and still mesmerized by Mary's magick.

"Nothing," Elphaba answered, feeling a twinge of something in her stomach, because she had once been quite impossible, herself.

Drawn to Mary in spite of herself, Elphaba heaved a sigh and cursed her own curiosity. Indicating for Dorothy to follow, she adjusted the pins in her hair as they made their way into the clearing. Straightening her best, black dress, she approached Mary from behind, where they were now pulling apples from the trees.

"I suppose I'll ask you one more time," Elphaba spoke up, "if you are, in fact, from Oz."

Mary turned, and both Bert and Adelaide followed.

Bert smiled and said, "So you are part of Mary's magical place!"

"No," Elphaba corrected, "_She_ is from _my_ magickal place. This place is not her creation. This is my home."

Bert suddenly looked confused, and Mary took a step forward. She stared at Elphaba for a long time, studying her with wide, lovely eyes that gave nothing away. They were blue, Elphaba had time to realize, an unusual, midnight blue the bordered on violet.

Eventually, Mary spoke, saying, "Perhaps that's true. This place is not of my own creation. Perhaps it has always existed. But I am not of this world. I no more belong here than I do anywhere else," she paused and looked up to the sky, "I think you'll find that some things in life are better left alone. I suppose you've forced me to admit that I have a bit of magic, but you'd best not complicate your life with me. I have my purpose and there's no need to muddle it with your concerns. I'm here for the child, for the children. This place is for them."

Elphaba shook her head, "This is more than a children's wonderland. This is a land in great turmoil. This is a land that needs leadership. Someone like you, with such a command of sorcery…you could be so much more than a pain in the…"

Mary cut her off, "I'll not have you call me names in front of the children."

"Fine," Elphaba sighed, "but it's not in my nature to let someone walk away from responsibility."

"You assume I have a responsibility here," Mary retorted.

Starting to get angry once more, Elphaba asked, "Then if you won't claim Oz, where do you come from, Mary Poppins?"

There was a flicker of uncertainty across her perfect features as Mary stood, not answering right away. They all stood very still, watching her. The two girls plucked at their flowers, and the Horses mumbled to each other, listening.

And Bert stepped slowly up to Mary's side and said softly, "That's a question I've been trying to answer for quite some time..."

Mary glanced sideways at Bert and, in spite of herself, her expression softened, "Perhaps it's not where I come from that matters. It's the job at hand that's important."

Elphaba quirked up an eyebrow and said, "I think I know better than most that it _does _matter where you come from."

Mary put her chin back in the air then, and said, "I think it's time that we be going," with that, she turned to walk away, calling out, "Come Adelaide, best foot forward, spit spot."

"Maybe you should go," Elphaba called after her, "After all, it looks like rain."

Mary hesitated for just a moment, giving the sky a quick, worried glance. She clutched her umbrella, as though she needed the reassurance that it was there. Elphaba's lips twitched as though she'd just learned a secret, or the potential for a secret.

* * *

Two days hence, Elphaba was in the park once more. This time, she'd left Dorothy at home with the studies she'd promised Emily the child would do. Scanning the crowd, she was pleased to find Mary once again, perched properly on one of the benches. She was in red this time, with fine black detailing on her well-fitted coat. As usual, she clutched her umbrella closely. Crossing the expanse of grass, Elphaba took a seat beside her. Neither said anything for a few minutes.

Finally, Elphaba stated, "So you can't get wet, can't you?"

After a pause, Mary answered, "That's absurd. How would one take a proper bath, if one can't get wet?"

"Meaning you're common enough to take a bath?" Elphaba snapped back.

"I am far from common," Mary answered.

Elphaba let that one go, not in the mood for another circular argument, "In Oz, then. You must have the same reaction to the rain…"

Mary said nothing, as seemed to be her way when the question didn't please her.

Elphaba watched the children for a moment, picking Adelaide out of the group. Finally, she broke the silence by asking, "Your friend Bert, he's an artist I'm guessing?"

"He's a lot of things," Mary answered quickly.

"Well then tell me, what exactly is his advantage?" Elphaba asked, trying to find any subject that would illicite a real response from Mary.

"I don't know what you mean," Mary answered.

"In your song, the one that you created out of thin air, you said he would never think of pressing his advantage. And he clearly thinks the sun shines for you alone. So…what is his advantage?"

Mary took a breath, "It's a song, created to amuse children."

"Then why not sing about children?"

"Bert gave the song words, at first. It was as song about me, and I followed."

"Well, I'm not surprised at his part," Elphaba chuckled, "but in order for him to press his advantage, he must have one. What is it?"

Mary didn't answer.

Elphaba took a breath and said, "You love him, don't you?"

Without turning her head, Mary said, "That is entirely inappropriate, as I hardly know you. Besides, the idea is absolutely preposterous."

"Why?" Elphaba demanded.

"Because I wasn't born for certain things," Mary answered a little more softly than usual.

In that moment, Elphaba heard an echo of so many things she'd said over the years. She looked Mary over again, in all her perfection, and saw a reflection. There were just enough years between them for her to be able to look back, and remember. And in spite of herself, Elphaba couldn't just walk away. She couldn't go back to Kansas and pretend they'd never met.

She let a few moments pass, and then said, "There is a lot we could do together, in Oz. It's a rich place, full of all types of life. It's more than a fantasy for children. I've begged for partnership before, and most everyone in my life has been more interested in their own selfish ambitions. I had hoped you would be different. I have my own life here, as well. I'm more ordinary in some ways than I want to admit. Still, I come from a land that needs leadership, that needs peace. You are a powerful sorceress, clearly. That's what we would call you in Oz. And with that much power, comes great obligation."

Mary still said nothing.

"Just consider it. This is where I'll be, if you need me," Elphaba stood and handed her a scrap of paper on which she'd scrawled the same address where she'd sent her letters to Fiyero. Then, Elphaba strode away.

* * *

A few days later, it was finally time to go home.

Elphaba, Dorothy and the Professor packed their things, and set out on the long return trip back to Southampton, and then across the ocean. They went with mixed feelings, however. The professor was disappointed at having not been able to interview Mary. He had asked on every occasion that they went to the park, and even watched them from afar a few times. Elphaba had repeatedly convinced him, however, that his involvement would only cause Mary to disappear for good. So he settled for information vicariously, and got a promise from Elphaba that she would take him to Oz so he could see it for himself. That was enough to take his mind off of Mary.

Dorothy was clearly upset to be leaving, because Mary had enchanted her a bit with her magickal games. Even seen from afar, Mary's type of magick was enthralling to children. However, Dorothy also seemed a bit homesick, and Elphaba had determined this was enough of an adventure for a twelve year-old. So they headed toward home, and Elphaba tried to put aside things over which she had no control. Instead, she focused on what she'd learned from this trip.

She'd decided that it was time to return to Oz. Even though this place was starting to feel like her new home, something called to her. Although it was here that she found her solace, it was here that she and Fiyero could live in peace, she needed to make one last stand for her birthplace. And if the Wizard could come in on the wind and enchant everyone with false magick, surely she might have some influence with real magick at her command. That is, if this Mary Poppins would share some of her secrets. Elphaba was sure that her fanciful tricks could also translate into something very useful, with the right practice. So, in spite of her dislike for the woman's general demeanor, Elphaba hoped she would see her again. As they traveled, she couldn't help but hope that Mary would find her again.

* * *

Some three weeks later, Bert sat on one of his favorite rooftops in London, studying the stars above on an especially clear night. He'd been working as a sweep these past few weeks, preferring to spend the fall days on the rooftops. Then, it would be cleaning cellars for the coldest months of winter. It was a cycle he'd repeated many times throughout the years.

Having been orphaned at a young age, younger than he could recall, Bert had been the master of all trades since he'd been old enough to learn that begging only brought in so much money. He'd spent just enough time in the church's orphanage to decide he'd rather make his way on his own. If he couldn't have his own parents, he didn't see any need for stalwart nuns looming over him with paddling sticks. So he struck out at some point, perhaps when he was about twelve, and didn't look back.

The first winter, when he nearly starved to death, the man who shined shoes on the corner told him he best learn a trade, or he would die on the streets. It was the best gift he'd ever been given, to be told to find a purpose. So he set out to learn how to shine shoes, and then to sweep chimneys. He learned to clean cellars and patch roofs, and finally, Bert learned how to draw. Or, perhaps, he might've always known how to draw. It might've just been her that brought it out of him.

Some spring morning, when he guessed he was about twenty-three, he'd headed into the park with some discarded hearth coals and sheets for draping furniture. He'd hoped to rest for a bit before heading toward the next mess that needed cleaning. There, sitting on one of the park benches, checking her reflection in a tiny mirror, she was.

Bert would never forget the pale violet dress she'd worn, with the fitted bodice and delicate sleeves. She'd had her hat laying next to her, so she could check her perfectly pinned hair in the mirror. She was a picture, if he'd ever seen one. And so, Bert had taken some pieces of charcoal and a torn piece of his draping cloth and started to sketch her. He'd done his best, with only light and shadow to work with. Then, he'd started making a stop in the park each day, to see if she would be there. He'd even used the few extra shillings he had to purchase some good artists crayons and paper, and he sketched her. Every time she was there, seated on the bench as though she were waiting, he sketched her, trying to capture perfect if he'd ever seen it. Until the day she'd caught him.

That particular afternoon, he had been startled by a voice over his shoulder, "That's quite lovely, for someone who makes their living in the chimneys."

Bert had turned and stood face to face with her, "I hope you don't mind…you just brought it out of me, I guess."

"I suppose it's all right," she'd said, "It's to be expected, I guess. I tend to bring things out of people."

"You're the loveliest sight in the park," he'd said, and then wished he could take it back.

"Perhaps. May I take one of them with me?" she'd asked.

"Why certainly, if…if I can have your name," Bert had asked.

She'd cocked her head and answered, "Mary Poppins, if you like."

He'd handed her one of the sketches, and said, "Well, you are a perfect picture, Miss Mary Poppins."

She'd scurried away then, and the next time he'd seen her, she had children with her. And that had become their way. She brought the children to the park and turned her head while they aggravated the Park Keeper just a bit. She would chat with Bert briefly. Then, she would disappear into the trees and return with delighted and exhausted children.

It didn't take Bert long to understand that she made her living as a nanny. She came and went as the families needed her, and was never seen in between. Still, when she was there, the children loved her. They took to her quick, no-nonsense way of handling them, and she managed to be firm without being stern. She kept the children tightly reigned and demanded the best behavior, and yet they adored her. Bert would always remember the day he discovered why.

He'd followed Mary and the children to the edge of the trees in the park, hoping for the chance to chat with her once again. He'd come up behind her just as she was telling the children what might've been a story. He'd reached out to touch her at just the right moment, and he'd ended up in her magical place, as he thought of it. Mary, of course, had been quite upset. She'd pointed her finger at him and given him an earful of why he should mind his own business. Still, she'd let him stay.

From then on, an unspoken bond began to grow. She was his closest friend, his only friend, even though he knew almost nothing about her. Having had a very solitary life, he wasn't much for chatter. Still, he cherished the days when she was around, and he continued to sketch her, sometimes just from his memory. She, in turn, met him in the park with the children. She also started meeting him on the rooftops on her evenings off, and she always made his heart flutter.

Now, sitting on the roof tiles, Bert thought about her. He thought about Mary, and why he would never get over her. He was fairly certain she would never approve of his affections, but he cared for her. Whether his feelings were merely a deep, abiding friendship, or a hint at something more, he was a little afraid to contemplate. What he was sure of, though, is that he missed her terribly when she was away.

Just then, while he was lost in thought, a flicker of motion caught his eye. He turned, and there she was, hovering just over the rooftop behind him with her usual opened umbrella.

Bert smiled and said, "You're a welcome sight, Mary Poppins."

"Perhaps," she said demurely, and furled the umbrella. With easy grace, she crossed the roof and sat beside him on the edge of the gable.

"What brings you out tonight?"

She looked at her hands for a moment, and then met his eyes. In her silence, he understood. He also took notice of the well-worn bag she'd brought with her.

"So you're going then?" he asked softly.

"Yes, Bert," she replied.

"Miss Adelaide will surely miss you."

"Possibly, but her mother is well now, and she's in considerably better spirits. They have each other, now."

Bert caught the slight hint of sadness in her voice, and said, "You know they all love you, Mary, even when they don't need you anymore…"

"I know, Bert," she whispered.

There was a pause, as they both studied the sky.

"Mary," he finally spoke up, "those folks that came calling for you. The ones from your magical place…will you go look for them? Now that your job is done?"

She cocked her head, "I suppose they want me to."

"And…is that where you really come from?" Bert dared to ask.

There was a long pause before she said, "I don't know, Bert."

It was the closest thing to an honest answer she'd ever given him, and it scared him a little.

"Perhaps, while you're away this time, you might find out?" he asked hesitantly.

"Perhaps," she said.

There was another pause.

"Don't stay away too long, Mary…"

She gave him a quick glance, "We both know I have very little control over that."

"But you'll be back when the wind changes?" Bert asked, knowing very well that there was more to it than just the wind.

She gave him a quick smile, "Don't you worry yourself about me, Bert. I know my place."

She stood then, and Bert followed suit.

Standing there in the starlight, he struggled with what he wanted to say, "Mary…"

"Don't, Bert," she stopped him with a stern, yet sad expression, "Just…look after yourself."

There was a long silence, where neither one of them was exactly sure what to say. Then, just as she had so many other times, Mary leaned in to give him her customary kiss on the cheek. It was a scenario that had played out more times than Bert could count. Still, something was different this time. The appearance of these strangers, claiming to be from the magical Land of Oz, had stirred things up and made him uncertain of so many things. Never before had he been so afraid that Mary would not be coming back. And in the moment, as she leaned toward him, he felt the weight of all the things left unsaid. For all their hours spent talking, he was terrified that he would never get to say what really lurked just beneath his crooked smile and casual demeanor. So, on a sudden impulse, as she went to brush him with a kiss, Bert turned his head and caught her lips with his.

It was quite chaste, as far as kisses go. There was no sudden embrace, no pressing of their bodies into each other. In fact, her coat barely brushed his arm as they stood there. However, in the moment, it felt as though the sky was split by a crackling bolt of white-hot lightening. For them, the air radiated with a thousand prismatic colors of light and heat, as though two stars had collided. What was merely seconds felt like an eternity and, on instinct, Bert let his arm reach up behind Mary's head to touch her skin, just where the soft, tendrils of her hair brushed her neck. Just as he did so, she leapt backward, almost violently.

Bert swallowed hard, and the sheer terror on her face left him speechless. Then, in a flash, she wiped the expression away. They stood there for a moment, and Bert struggled.

"Mary…I…" he started.

She said nothing. Instead, she stepped in, and slapped him hard across the face. Then, she turned on her heel and, forgoing her usual flight, simply disappeared.

Bert stood there for some time, clutching his face. He'd never imagined it would be like that, to kiss her. As impossible as it was, he'd underestimated how strong his feelings were. And he'd also underestimated how very badly she could hurt him. So he stood there, wondering if this might be what it was like, to have a truly broken heart.


	6. Chapter 6

**So finally, here's more. 17 showings of Mary Poppins and I've got enough ideas for this story to write forever...**

**Couple more cheats for those of you that don't know Wicked and haven't read my other fanfics...Tessy is the daughter of a black slave and a white plantation wife. Hers and Elphaba's struggles with being 'colored' helped them become friends. Mae is also Elphaba's aunt, and Dorothy is Elphaba's niece, that is their relation. The Wizard is Elphaba's father...which is straight from Wicked itself. The wagon featured in this chapter is the Clock of the Time Dragon, which is a mysterious traveling wagon, like a circus side-show attraction, that reveals things about characters' lives through storytelling or puppeteering. It shows up periodically in all of the Wicked stories, as it pleases, and no one knows exactly how it works. Finally, Children of Both Worlds implies people who have one parent from Oz and one from earth. For example, Elphaba's father is the Wizard, from Kansas, and her mother is from Oz.**

**Hope this helps. Enjoy and review. :-)**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Bert stood on the rooftop for some time after Mary disappeared. He still felt the rush of having kissed her, but he felt an overwhelming sense of despondency, as well. Although he knew Mary to be capable of all measure of magic, he'd never seen her simply disappear as she just had. He'd also never seen her strike another person. He must have upset her terribly, and it crushed him. Yet he was certain that, for a moment, she'd felt what he felt. Still, he hoped she didn't hate him. He hoped she would come back and that he would have a chance to apologize.

Heaving a sigh, he turned to retrieve his sack of supplies from where he'd dropped it a few paces away. Slinging it over his shoulder, a scrap of paper on the otherwise dark roof caught his eye. Picking it up, he unfolded it and studied what was written there. It took him a moment, but then he recognized the name.

_Elphaba._

There was also an address, somewhere very far away, in the States. Bert was perplexed, at first, and then he began to realize what he had. Clearly, Elphaba was not satisfied with all she'd seen of Mary. She wanted Mary to find her, and there was a connection between them, of that Bert was certain. He hadn't seen Elphaba so much as attempt at magic, but she seemed to know things about Mary that even Mary didn't know. He sensed that Elphaba was the key to something. It brought him back to the question he'd asked Mary before she left, as to whether she would seek out the green woman who claimed to be from Oz. Now, he felt more certain of the answer. Mary had disappeared, but he might know where to find her. For once, he might have an inkling of where she was.

So, with little other reason to stay in London, since it was mostly Mary that kept him tethered to this place, Bert scuffled down from the roof with his supplies. Heading in the direction of his tiny, rented room, he aimed to pack his things and be on the next ship. He had, after all, always wanted to see the States.

* * *

By the time Elphaba, Dorothy and Professor Friedrick arrived back in Boston, they were significantly travel-weary. They had been held up for a few days in Southampton trying to arrange proper quarters on the ship back across the Atlantic. Then, they experienced rough seas and an ice warning that took them several hundred miles out of their way. All in all, a voyage that had taken them just over a week the first time had turned into a nearly three-week ordeal. Elphaba could only hope that Fiyero and Mae had gotten their correspondence and weren't terribly worried.

After arranging lodging to stay one night in Boston to recuperate, Elphaba and Dorothy went back to the Professor's office one last time to put together some data on their trip. Ever the scientist, Professor Friedrick asked permission to take some blood samples from Dorothy to be analyzed with the rudimentary new technology. He also had them write down their thoughts on the trip, and to expound on what their findings might mean.

After leaving them alone to spend some time writing, the Professor returned, and looked at Elphaba hopefully as he said, "Now…about traveling to Oz…"

Elphaba gave a little smirk, "I'd assumed you'd be mentioning that."

"I would be honored to go," the Professor said.

"Theoretically, I think it's possible for me to take you. I did send Fiyero here…somehow. But I have no idea what might happen…" Elphaba answered.

"I'll take the risk," the professor said softly.

"I assumed you would. I suppose it's encouraging, though, to know that Mary from London could take her friend Bert. He seems to have survived the journey several times."

The Professor chuckled, "I agree."

Elphaba stood up, and Dorothy followed, "So…shall we?"

The Professor stood as well, "Now?"

"You know me well enough by now to realize I don't have a great deal of patience," Elphaba admitted.

"I'll not argue that."

"I see no reason to put it off," Elphaba stated, "If we're going, let's go. I'll only drive myself crazy wondering about it if we don't."

The Professor came around from behind his desk and nodded. Elphaba took his hand, and motioned for Dorothy to do the same. Looking at Dorothy, she said, "Kiamo Ko?"

Dorothy nodded, since that was one of the places they'd dared to visit in recent months, because it was vacant. Then, they closed their eyes, and made the leap. Through the very fabric of the world the Professor knew, they slipped soundlessly, and opened their eyes in the courtyards of Kiamo Ko.

It was still abandoned, as it had been more than a year previous when Elphaba had nearly been burned to death. It was late winter in Oz now, which was a bit off from the weather in the States. However, they still wore their heavier coats from having spent so many weeks in the damp, colder weather of London. Looking around, they could see patches of snow still clinging to the barren trees.

Taking a deep breath, the Professor marveled, "You've really done it. We've really done it!"

"This is Oz," Dorothy said quietly.

"This is the Vinkus, actually," Elphaba corrected, "You're in western Oz, in the northern Great Kells. It's always colder here, and terribly dry. It's a wonder anything survives in the grasslands, sometimes."

Looking like a child in a chocolate factory, Professor Friedrick asked, "And how many weeks journey is it from one edge of Oz to the other?"

"Several," Elphaba answered after thinking it over.

The Professor pulled out a notepad and began making notes, "That's not large, compared with the whole of my world…"

"I've noticed," Elphaba mused.

Looking up, he stated, "You have a sun…it seems, so you must have stars?"

"Yes, but different than yours," Elphaba explained.

"Of course…but this must be a planetary world, then…"

Elphaba cocked her head, "I'm not sure that that's something that's been discovered here, yet…"

"Perhaps not…but logic leads…" the Professor lost himself in his thoughts.

For the next few minutes, Elphaba explained the geography as Oz as best she could, drawing a rudimentary map on one of the pages of paper. She explained the seasons, as they passed, and the climate. She also told him what she knew of what lay beyond the borders of Oz. Then, she led the Professor around the grounds of Kiamo Ko, pointing out plants and the few animals that braved the winter. He took samples in little jars, and Elphaba smiled at his thoroughness. It reminded her of her work with the Monkeys, and her own scientific process.

Then, after several hours, they decided it was more than time to go. Gathering back in the courtyard, Elphaba noticed how tired Dorothy looked. She was, after all, only twelve, and this had been the greatest journey of her short life. She had a lot of inner strength, but she was young, still.

Looking around, Elphaba mused, "I wonder…"

"What?" Dorothy asked.

"Well…in the other world, we have learned to choose a location in Oz and leap to it. Somehow, we can choose the destination. So…if logic serves, we should be able to choose a location to leap to from here, other than the location from which we left…" Elphaba explained.

Dorothy's eyes widened, and the Professor beamed.

"Where to, then?" he asked.

Elphaba looked at Dorothy and said, "Kansas…Mae's house."

Grasping hands once more, the three of them closed their eyes again. In an instant, with a rush they couldn't describe, the scenery changed. They stood in the yard just off the barn at the Proctor home, in Kansas.

Dorothy giggled and did a little dance, and Elphaba rolled her eyes.

"Well," she stated, "I suppose we could've saved ourselves a lot of hassle traveling if we'd realized this sooner…"

The Professor laughed, "Absolutely."

Then, Mae caught sight of them from the porch. Hurrying across the yard, she wrapped Elphaba and then Dorothy in a hug and said, "How on earth are you back so quickly? Your letter said another week or more!"

"Well, it seems we've found a better way to travel," Elphaba said dryly.

Mae raised an eyebrow, and Dorothy exclaimed, "We all went to Oz! And then we sent ourselves here! Without a train or anything! I can't describe it, Auntie Mae, but it's just wonderful! And in London…we met someone else like us! Her name is Mary Poppins and she's just magical!"

Elphaba rubbed her eyes and added, "And we've left all of our things in Boston…"

"So we have," the Professor laughed.

"Oh dear…" Mae looked worried.

Elphaba shook her head, "I'm going to assume that, having brought us here, I can go back and get our bags. I only wonder if there's a limit to the number of things I can bring with me…"

"Your things are safe enough tonight, in my office," the Professor assured them.

"Well…let's get you all some supper, then," Mae stated, leading the way back across the farmyard, "You can take Professor Friedrick back in the morning and get your things."

Tired, yet feeling quite fulfilled, Elphaba did not argue.

* * *

The following day, true to her word, Elphaba made a leap back to Oz, and then to Boston. She took Professor Friedrick with her, to save him the travel. It appeared that the key to her ability was that she had to pass through Oz in order to take herself to a different location on earth, as the Professor called it. She could not simply leap from place to place. Such instantaneous travel through natural space was beyond her. The Professor postulated that it worked this way because she was traveling through the very fabric of the universe when she leapt from world to world, which didn't restrict her as far as location.

"It's a matter of physics," the Professor had explained, "Obviously, entirely differently laws are involved in inter-dimensional travel, as opposed to traveling in space as we know it."

Elphaba had laughed, "As though there is any real 'law' to explain something like this."

"I suppose not," the Professor had chuckled, and then bade her goodbye.

Promising to meet again soon, Elphaba had gathered hers and Dorothy's bags from where they'd left them in the Professor's office. Then, she managed to leap back through Oz, and on to Kansas with them. She was becoming much more adept at traveling this way, and it took significantly less out of her each time. She was beginning to understand how someone like Mary did it so effortlessly.

Back in Kansas that evening, Elphaba was glad to know that Dorothy was spending some needed time with her Aunt and Uncle, telling them about London. After dinner, Elphaba took her coffee out onto the porch to sit with Tessy. It had been some time since they'd really talked, and they had much to catch up on.

They sat in silence for a moment, before Tessy said with a broad smile, "I have news!"

Elphaba cocked her head and said, "You'll be having a baby?"

Tessy gave Elphaba a look of mock anger and said, "That's not fair! You didn't even let me tell you!"

"I just know you that well, by now. I know this is what you've wanted."

Tessy sat back, smiling, "That's true…it really is…"

"So, how long have you known?" Elphaba asked.

"About a month now," Tessy answered softly.

Elphaba nodded.

"So…I'm guessing it will be early summer…maybe late May," Tessy mused.

Elphaba smiled at her, "I'm glad for you, really."

There was a pause, and then Tessy asked carefully, "Elphie…do you ever…do you ever wonder about your son? About Liir?"

Elphaba drew a sharp breath. Her gut reaction was to snap at Tessy, but she was learning to hold her tongue, sometimes. Trying to get past the initial emotional response, Elphaba said, "I try not to."

Tessy pressed further, "Would you find him, if you could?"

Elphaba studied the sky for minute, "I don't think so. I wasn't much of a mother to him. I just hope he's found a good life for himself…"

Tessy nodded.

"I want to leave it at that," Elphaba continued, "I can't change my past, Tessy. I can't make it right."

"I can understand that," Tessy answered.

"But I'm glad for you. You deserve to have a beautiful baby," Elphie encouraged.

Tessy finally smiled, "Just a healthy one is enough…I was starting to think I'd waited too long…"

Elphaba laughed, "Thirty-one is hardly old."

"I suppose," Tessy said, and then changed the subject, "So…are you going to tell me what you found in London?"

Mae came out onto the porch then, just as Elphaba started to speak. Taking a seat in another of the rocking chairs, she listened as well.

Elphaba explained, "London is certainly different. It's a busy city, and it's cold and damp. And I've never been much for damp. Decent people, though. They got used to me quickly enough. Dorothy made up a ridiculous story about me falling into a vat of dye."

"Dye?" Mae raised an eyebrow.

"I know," Elphaba rolled her eyes, "but apparently that was more believable than just being born green."

Mae chuckled and shook her head.

"It was all very uneventful, until we met Mary…"

Mae cocked her head, "Mary?"

Elphaba sighed, "Her name is Mary Poppins, apparently, and I think she's the reason we went. It took weeks to find her, but she does fly, just like the rumors indicated. I saw her fly, and disappear. We followed her into Oz, and she has a command of magic like no one I've ever seen. She doesn't seem to work from spells, and she's not specialized, that I can tell. She did it all…levitations, enchantments, persuasion. She's more powerful than I ever imagined…"

"Is that good?" Tessy asked uncertainly.

Elphaba sighed, "I don't know. Oz could use her, certainly. But she uses her magic to entertain children. She works as a nanny and takes the children to Oz on outings. She's very...frivolous with it...like she's something of a child herself. She also won't claim Oz as her birthplace. Although I'm sure she's also allergic to the water there, like me. She carries an umbrella religiously, and holds onto like it's made of solid gold."

"So…" Mae looked on the verge of laughter, "you found a magic nanny?"

"Apparently, yes," Elphaba smirked, "Such is my luck, I suppose. And she's infuriating, most of the time. From what I can tell, she's an absolute snob, and we had to all but sit on her to get her to admit she can use magic. Which was frustrating, because there is a very normal young man whom she lets accompany her on her pleasure trips into Oz. For whatever reason, he's privy to her secrets…"

"Is he courting her?" Tessy asked curiously.

"I have no idea," Elphaba rolled her eyes, "Mary acted as though their courting was a sin worse than mass murder."

Mae finally spoke up again, saying, "With a name like Mary, she sounds like someone native to London. That would be a very Christian name, to have come out of Oz."

"I suppose," Elphaba admitted, "but she has to have some connection to Oz. There's no other explanation."

"So…did she agree to help you?" Tessy asked.

"No…but she stopped adamantly saying no. And I gave her this address…"

"Here?" Mae asked.

Elphaba nodded, "Yes…and as much as she made me want to slap her, I hope she'll come."

"I won't pretend to understand all your motives, but I hope she does, for your sake," Mae added.

Elphaba smiled in agreement.

* * *

Later that night, Elphaba sat with Fiyero on their bed in the smaller farmhouse. She had been changing clothes for the night, when Fiyero had stopped her. Pulling her down onto the bed in just her cotton undergarments, he'd proceeded to work his strong hands over her bare back. Elphaba melted before him as always, because he was eternally her greatest weakness.

With her eyes closed, she said, "You nearly make me forget all the terribly important things running through my head."

Fiyero smiled a little, "Maybe they're not so important…"

Looking over her shoulder briefly, Elphaba said, "The future of Oz is what's on my mind. Certainly you still care about the place that birthed you…"

"Of course I do…but I wasn't meant to save it. That's your mission…but you can let it go for one night."

Elphaba closed her eyes again, "I'll give you that…"

Fiyero started to trail kisses down her neck as his ran his hands over her slender arms, "I've missed you so much," he breathed.

Elphaba leaned into him, grateful to have one person in her life with whom she could bare everything, body and soul. She was glad to have had the opportunity to realize how important that could be.

"You're my safe place, Yero," she said softly.

For a moment, they focused solely on each other. Elphaba turned around and kissed him tenderly, letting him run his hands over her bare skin. She pressed herself against his warm chest and felt his heartbeat. He kissed her in return, and started to work his mouth over her neck to her collarbone. However, before she could surrender to him, Elphaba pulled back, troubled. Fiyero looked at her with questions in his eyes.

Struggling, she asked, "Yero…do you ever wonder…I mean…do you think that I should try to find Liir?"

Sitting back, Fiyero was a little stunned. Elphaba had been so unwilling, up to this point, to discuss the child she'd birthed whom he'd never seen. It was a subject that still hurt, but it wasn't something he could change, either.

"I think...yes, if that's what you want," he finally answered.

Elphaba sighed, "I don't know what I want. I just…he's your son, and I doubt I'll ever give you more children..."

"If this is about an obligation you feel you have to me, I have all the children I could want, Fae."

"I just…I feel like I robbed you of him," Elphaba admitted, "I'm certainly not the perfect mother, but you are a good father…"

Fiyero struggled for a minute, and then said, "I think, if you want to know what's become of him, you should find out. But I also think the best we can hope for is that he has a good life. I don't know that it would be possible to take him back, now. I'll admit, it hurts to think I unintentinally abandoned a child but...we can't expect him to want us…at fifteen years old…"

"I know," Elphaba said softly, "but I'd like to know…"

"Then look for him," Fiyero encouraged, "when you go back to Oz on your next crusade, and you will, look for him. I'd be glad to know him, if you find him."

Elphaba nodded slowly.

"But for now…" Fiyero continued, "Make love to me."

Elphaba couldn't help smiling then, as she wound her arms around his neck. Kissing him with raw, unabashed desire, they tumbled easily onto the bed. With familiarity that didn't mute their passion, they shed their clothes and lost themselves in each other. They had been married long enough now to have developed trust, which was something they'd never had before. They knew that neither would simply disappear in the night. So, now, they fully knew each other. Elphaba was open and unashamed, in spite of her scars. Fiyero had also grown past his somewhat selfish uncertainty from the corn exchange, molded into a man by the responsibilities of being a father. Older, more mature, and more grounded, they took their time. Their lovemaking flowed like a deep and mighty river, rushing and churning, and then slowing to appreciate the landscape. They gave to each other, and then took in turn, until they were trembling in each other's arms from the power of a climax fully savored. Then they slept the sound sleep of lovers satisfied.

* * *

The next week and a half went by rather quickly, with all the preparations for the first snowfall. Christmas was also fast approaching, and the children insisted on decorating with candies and evergreen boughs. Elphaba put Oz on hold temporarily, not wanting to leave all the work for the others to do, and knowing how much it meant to Mae and Fiyero to have her home for the holiday. She decided to plot her course of action in Oz just after Christmas. She also still held out hope that Mary might find her by then.

One morning a few days before Christmas, Elphaba was awakened early because Mae had come knocking. One of the horses was foaling, and she needed a little help. Elphaba went right away, leaving Fiyero sleeping. She dressed in the pair of men's trousers she'd altered to fit her slender body, and the heavy, winter shirtwaist she used for work. Her boots completed the entirely unconventional ensemble, but Elphaba cared little for what people thought. All of Amber Plains knew by now that she would both dress and do as she pleased. With her hair hastily braided and pinned, she hurried to the barn to see what she could do.

It wasn't a lengthy ordeal, and the foal was born after just a bit of a struggle. The mare was understandably tired, having birthed a bit of a large foal for her size, but she would recover. Elphaba made sure there was fresh hay, and then left the animals to tend each other as they did best. She was just coming out of the barn when she noticed Wilbur talking with someone in the yard. As she got closer, she was stunned.

It was Bert. She was certain. They'd only met once, but she remembered him well. He was dressed in dark trousers and a jacket that looked as though they could use a good washing. His boots were scuffed and his duffle was well-worn, but he'd washed and combed his hair, which spoke to his character. Crossing the yard quickly, Elphaba approached him.

Interrupting Wilbur, Elphaba asked, "Bert? How in the world?"

Turning toward her, Bert gave a weary smile, "I found your note…with this address."

"I see," Elphaba said, wondering how he'd come across the paper she'd given Mary, "and what made you decide you should come find me? Am I that interesting?"

Wilbur couldn't help smiling.

Bert answered, "Possibly. But…I suppose I was 'oping Mary was 'ere…because you gave her this address…"

"So…you came halfway around your world…just because Mary might be here?" Elphaba was stunned and amused, "Did you have unfinished business?"

Bert looked away, as though deciding what to say, "You might say we always leave things unfinished."

"I see," Elphaba held her tongue as to what she really thought.

Bert sighed, "To be honest…I thought she was gone for good. I'm afraid I upset 'er, and I thought she wasn't comin' back. I just…didn't want 'er gone forever. I wanted to apologize…"

"So you came all this way to apologize?" Elphaba was still incredulous.

"I'll admit, it was further than I imagined," Bert stated, "but…I guess I also 'oped to find you."

"Me?" Elphaba was surprised.

Bert looked thoughtful, "You seem to 'ave some answers…to questions I've 'ad for years. You seem to know something about Mary, and…I've always wanted to understand her. And I think she might need a little 'elp…understanding 'erself…"

Elphaba sighed, "I should've realized this was going to get complicated. Sweet Oz, why can't I stumble across a sorceress who knows who she is, knows the workings of Oz, and wants to help me?"

Bert shrugged.

Rolling her eyes, Elphaba started toward Mae's house, "Come on, Bert. We have a lot to talk about."

He followed, because she was as commanding as Mary, but harsher.

It took Elphaba quite some time to explain to Bert about the Land of Oz, and how she'd come to Kansas. Mae and others listened while they ate breakfast, and then left Bert and Elphaba in the kitchen to keep talking while they went about their day. Mae returned from her chores at some point and sat down to listen, once again, to the story she was starting to know quite well, herself.

Elphaba tried to keep the information objective, as she explained about having been born in Munchkinland, and then later attending Shiz. She explained briefly what the title of Eminent Thropp meant, and how she had two siblings. She couldn't help but still be a bit bitter over her father's religious zeal, and his treatment of her. Still, she told of it and went on. She gave just the basic facts of how she'd left school to live in the Emerald City, and to join the Resistance. She told him about the political upheaval that Oz had been going through, and what the Wizard had done to the Animals. She told him briefly about how she and Fiyero had been lovers, and how someone had tried to kill him. She left out how she'd gone a bit crazy after they'd attacked Fiyero, and how she'd birthed a child in the mauntery. Instead, she laid out how things had continued to go downhill for her homeland, and how they had rejected her. She explained how she'd lost her father and sister, and how Munchkinland seemed eternally on the brink of causing a civil war. Elphaba focused her story on the plight of Oz, rather than her personal struggles. Then, she told how she'd ended up in Kansas, after Dorothy had tried to kill her.

Bert was more than astonished, at that point, and he was only further amazed when Elphaba and Mae laid out how they were related. He listened in fascination as they explained how Dorothy and the Wizard fit into the picture. Finally, when they explained how children of both worlds had most likely always existed, and how they could travel from one world to another, Bert seemed to see the bigger picture.

"So," he said slowly, "you're saying that Mary is one of you?"

Elphaba nodded, "Yes. She has to be."

"And so she 'as to be related to you?" Bert asked.

Elphaba sighed, "I don't know. There's no way of knowing how this all began…who was the first to cross from one world to another. I don't know if it's just one bloodline…or several. It's just coincidence that Dorothy, Mae and myself are connected."

Bert struggled with what to say next.

"I know…it's an amazing, unbelievable story," Mae said softly, "I wouldn't believe it myself if I wasn't in the middle of it."

"I suppose I wouldn't either, if I 'adn't seen what Mary can do," Bert admitted.

There was a silence, while they all thought for a moment.

"So…does this mean that Mary is from Oz? Is that what you're telling me?" Bert asked.

Elphaba looked thoughtful, "That was my first thought, yes. She has to have learned the magick in Oz…it's much harder to work magick here. I've tried. However…she doesn't sound or behave like anyone from Oz, really…"

"That much is true," Bert smiled, "she's the picture of an English lady."

"And Dorothy…she wasn't born in Oz. Children of both worlds can be born in both worlds. And Dorothy hasn't learned any magick, yet. Magick, here, is rare. So Mary must have spent time in Oz learning, even if she wasn't born there. She has to know more than she's saying," Elphaba said, frustrated.

"Well," Bert smiled sadly, "you'll be 'ard pressed to get information out of Mary Poppins. She guards 'er secrets."

"Even from you?" Mae asked carefully, having obviously picked up on Bert's affections for Mary.

Bert looked down at his hands, "Yes…even from me."

"She's never told you where she goes? Where she stays when she's not in London?" Elphaba asked.

Bert shook his head.

"How long is she usually gone?"

"Sometimes a week or two. Sometimes months," Bert estimated.

Elphaba looked thoughtful, "And you never see her when she's not taking care of children?"

Bert shook his head again.

"So she must be there…she must be somewhere in Oz, if she's not in London."

"You mean, right now?" Bert asked.

"Yes," Elphaba nodded, "and all the times in between. If she didn't come here to find me, and she left London, she must be there. And the last time she leapt to Oz, I followed her. I followed her because I focused on her, rather than a location. So if logic serves…"

Mae looked at Elphaba with an intense expression, "You should be able to find her, if you want to."

Elphaba looked at her hands for a moment, struggling with what she should do. She thought about what she wanted, and what she would do if she found Mary. She thought about what she would ask of her. She considered what they could do, together. And then she couldn't help wondering if there was some chance that they were related. Elphaba tried to decide if it mattered.

Then, taking a deep breath, she said, "Bert, I think you're going back to Oz with me."

He smiled in spite of himself.

* * *

Around that same time, somewhere in the depths of northern Gillikin Forest, Mary sat alone on one of the far-reaching branches of a towering Quoxwood tree. Her things were on the ground below her, and she had her heavy, black coat wrapped around herself. Forsaking formality for the moment, she'd left her hat with her bag and umbrella. With a faraway expression, she stared absently at the sky as it melded through the colors of sunrise. It was cold, but she hardly noticed. She was lost in her own thoughts, trying to sort out the maelstrom within herself.

Her departure from London a few weeks previous had left her deeply troubled. Usually one to keep an optimistic, or at least rational, attitude, she felt off-balance. She'd hurt Bert, she knew. She'd struck him physically and certainly wounded him emotionally. She hated the idea of him hurting. Still, he'd kissed her, and that just couldn't happen. She'd known he would most likely try, at some point. Mary knew that he cared for her, and so she was very careful to always keep him at a certain distance. Till this point, she'd been successful. They had developed a very meaningful friendship that she cherished more than she would admit, but she'd drawn the line there. And Bert had never crossed that line, until now. For whatever reason, he'd pressed his advantage, and Mary was now tormented. She knew what he'd felt when they'd kissed. She knew there was a flickering flame in both of them that threatened to blaze out of control if they let it. It was for that reason that she was always so very careful with him. Now, she wasn't sure how to restore the balance of things.

Heaving a sigh, she determined that it was mostly the fault of the green woman who'd showed up so uninvited. This Elphaba was brash, disrespectful, and far too wild for Mary's liking. She'd also stirred up things that Mary didn't want to confront. She asked questions that Mary had written off as unanswerable. She had disrupted that routine that Mary had created for herself, that she'd come to find comfortable. Elphaba had stirred the waters of Mary's life, and now she wasn't sure what to do. As she sat in the cool morning, she couldn't come to any decision. She didn't know if she should follow Elphaba to the address she'd memorized, or keep avoiding her. She wasn't sure that she wanted answers. And she didn't know if she could walk away from the children and face the unknowns in her life. It all seemed so unnecessary.

Mary was good at what she did, she knew, and she loved the children. They were trusting and innocent, and they allowed her to be herself without question. Magic didn't scare them and turn them from her. To the children, her differences were wondrous and enchanting. Her charges filled the emptiness within her, and gave her purpose. Yet, she was always aware that she was different. She was perfect, and that segregated her. She'd accepted that she would never be wholly part of society. Elphaba had stirred up questions, though, and a part of Mary still longed to _know._ There was a part of her that hoped for recompense, for certain things. So she sat there, troubled.

After another few minutes, a disruption in the forest caught her attention. Soundlessly, Mary let herself float down from the tree to stand next to her faded bag and umbrella. Looking around, she tried to determine where the sound was coming from. After another moment, before there was time for her to flee or hide, a sort-of wagon came rumbling through the trees. It kicked up leaves and dust in its wake, and came to rest a few yards from where Mary stood. She stared at it for a minute, trying to decide if she should be afraid. After another moment of silence, she slowly approached.

It looked like something out of a circus troop, with ornately decorated windows of all sizes in the sides. She felt sure that it all opened somehow, and perhaps served as entertainment. Perched on top was a dragon of sorts, made of patchwork metal and cogs. Curious, and a little afraid, Mary waited. This was not, after all, the strangest thing she'd ever seen in this place called Oz. So she waited.

After another minute, one of the little windows opened. Cocking her shiny, brunette head, Mary watched. As if by magick, a story began to unfold before her. It took her just a moment to recognize herself, as a doll made out of fabric and stuffing, and shiny horse hair. She watched as her life played out, not really revealing anything new, but stirring up memories she'd long since tried to forget. She recognized other figures, acting out their roles in her life in the form of tiny puppets. Mary turned away a few times, because some memories scar, rather than fade. And then, at the end of the strange reenactment, a new scene played out.

A figure that had to be Elphaba, carved from wood and painted grass green, appeared from the left. From the right came the doll that Mary knew was herself. As they met in the middle of the little proscenium, the two reached out and touched just their hands together. At the connection, the darkness behind them lit up with all sorts of bursts of light, color, and smoke. It was quite a display, and Mary decided it must have taken quite a bit of spellwork to achieve. It went on for several moments, before the strange wagon shuttered its window again, and very perfectly still.

Mary stood there for some time, no stranger to magick, and yet very confused. She was horribly torn, and a little afraid. So she drew herself together and considered her options, because Mary did not allow herself to wallow in her emotions. Whether the outcome be good or bad, in her life, she always made a choice. She did not allow life to simply wash over her and wear her down. She did not allow sentiment to paralyze her. She had to choose. Would she find this Elphaba and see if they had some purpose, together, or would she go back to the children? Was there anything to be gained from knowing this green woman, or would it simply stir up unwanted emotions and other things Mary couldn't change?

Perhaps the only thing that swayed her was that Elphaba had mentioned purpose. She felt that Mary had some sort of purpose in Oz, and that was something Mary could relate to. She thrived on purpose. She lived only for purpose, because sentiment failed her. In her mind, if she couldn't belong to the world, she could at least make a difference in it. She would leave her mark, even if that mark was just an elusive shooting star in the darkness.

Just then, while Mary was lost in thought, another disturbance in the forest caught her attention. She turned to her left, and was terribly startled. Standing there was Elphaba, clothed in black and still very green, and Bert, looking humble and worried. They faced off with each other, silently, each plotting the next move, each struggling with the choice.


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm moving along with this now, so you get two chapters. I hope you're still out there, and reading. This has actually taken a lot of brainstorming...it's not so easy to make silliness into seriousness. It is fun, though. Enjoy, and review.**

**Also, important note...I have decided to go my own way with how things progress, politically, in Oz after Elphaba's 'melting'. I know that Son of a Witch takes things one way, but I'm going to change it. Such is the power of fanfiction. :-)**

**Also, many thanks to Mya Sue...who sits up with me at 2am and helps me peel the onion. Super...cali...fragilistic...expialidocious. :-)**

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* * *

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**Chapter 7**

After a long moment without any sound, Elphaba crossed to where the Clock of the Time Dragon sat. She placed one hand on the rough, uneven corner, and looked at it knowingly. As though they sensed her presence, the ragamuffin group of dwarves who pushed it on its way peered around from the sides, finally revealing themselves. Elphaba gave them a sharp look, and one of them smiled a mostly toothless smile.

"Penny for you fortune today?" he asked gruffly.

"I've had enough of your antics for the rest of my life. Get on your way," Elphaba ordered.

The dwarves shrugged and eyed Elphaba warily as they pushed the wagon on through the forest. Elphaba watched them until they were almost out of sight. Then, she turned back to Mary. She knew better than to ask what the Time Dragon might've shown. Its revelations, when done in private, were generally too personal to be shared. Instead, Elphaba simply fixed Mary with a hard gaze.

She knew she looked more imposing today than she had at their other meetings. Elphaba had chosen her best, full-skirted black dress for this trip. It was intricately beaded on the bodice, and high-necked, which was her favorite style. She had just part of her hair clasped behind her head, letting the rest of it tumble in heavy curls down her back. She wore her best, solid boots and she held herself well, knowing she was quite a sight when she wanted to be. All she was missing was her beloved hat, which she'd yet to find in the shadows of Kiamo Ko, and the broom that had given her flight.

Staring at Mary now, Elphaba explained her presence, "Bert came a long way to find you, all the way to Kansas. And, since you didn't come there, I thought I had a good idea of where you would be."

Mary cocked her head, "If I'd wanted to, I could've come there. I don't need an address to find you."

"So I've learned," Elphaba shot back.

Mary sighed heavily, as though she were weary and running out of arguments, "Miss Elphaba…what is it that you want of me?"

Elphaba took a step closer, "I want you to let me show you the Animals…how they live. I want you to see Oz for the place it is…and consider helping me change it."

Mary stared at her for another moment, and pulled her pristine, white gloves from her pocket. Sliding her hands carefully into them, she answered, "I don't think you understand who I am, Miss Elphaba. I'm no warrior, or revolutionary. I wasn't made to be soiled in battle."

"Because of you're so very _perfect_?" Elphaba spat.

Mary tipped her head, "Yes. And, my place is with the children. They need me. They need a little magic in their lives. They need order. I can't be gallivanting around a place I know nothing about trying to stir up rebellion among people I don't know. I'm hardly suited to lead some kind of mutiny."

"I'm not asking you to lead an army," Elphaba argued, "I'm asking you to come see the Animals…where they live. I'm asking you to come to the Emerald City with me…and speak for them. Use some of your magic to put fear into those who shouldn't be in power."

Mary looked wary, "I don't incite fear. I think it's against my nature."

Elphaba wasn't convinced, "You've never had to put someone in their place? You've never had an argument? You've never used your magic to give someone what they deserved, when they did wrong? You've never been angry over something, and done something about it? "

Mary looked way for a minute, and then admitted, "I suppose there was another nanny…once…she was quite horrible, with her tyranny and threatening…"

Elphaba smiled a little, "I thought so."

Mary leveled Elphaba with her gaze once again, "Even admitting that much, Miss Elphaba, I still don't understand why you keep seeking me out. You're well equipped to do this on your own. This is your fight."

Elphaba sighed and clenched her hands into fists, "Because…I'm not the sorceress you are. I've never had the discipline, the training. And people run from me in fear. To them, I am as much of an outcast as the Animals. I need someone to stand with me…who they might respect. The Animals need someone to believe in, someone they really think can change things. And…" she struggled, "I think…there's a chance…that you and I are family."

Mary's expression faltered for just a second, and she looked down at her hands, "I'm quite certain," she stated, "that that is not possible."

"You never know what's possible," Elphaba replied.

Mary recovered, and asked again, "What exactly do you want, Miss Elphaba? Right now?"

Elphaba seized the opportunity, "Let me show you Oz. Let me show you that there's more than just talking Animals and pretty scenery. Let me help you understand."

Mary looked toward the sky for a moment, clearly torn. She studied the pale, wispy clouds in the morning light, and then closed her eyes as though she were listening to the wind.

Having been very quiet to this point, Bert spoke up, "You know Mary, it won't 'urt anything, just to see…"

Mary opened her eyes and looked over at him, and Elphaba could tell that he influenced her. Then, she closed her eyes once more.

After a time, she met Elphaba's gaze again and said, "All right. But only 'till the wind changes."

Not entirely sure what that might mean, Elphaba decided to let it go. She didn't want to start arguing again and give Mary a chance to change her mind. Holding out her hands, she indicated for Bert and Mary to join hands with her. Focusing on Kansas, and then the Emerald City, she leapt them through the worlds to the outskirts of the great, Ozian City. Then, they stood there for a moment, studying the towering buildings in the distance. Mary took it all in stride, surveying the scene with nonchalance. Bert was wide-eyed and amazed, and Elphaba focused on wrapping a dark scarf around her head. Finally satisfied that she was mostly covered, Elphaba pulled gloves onto her hands and led the way.

"Come on. Let's not give anyone the chance to start staring at us," Elphaba ordered.

The three of them followed the Yellow Brick Road into the city from the north, entering through the warehouse district that often served as a covert location for imprisoning Animals. Surveying the mostly empty, brick buildings, Elphaba hoped, for their sake, that the Animals had fled this area. Leading Bert and Mary down the streets, she cut a path towards the Seventh Ward, where the Animals in the city were forced to reside. Even having been gone for more than a year, Elphaba was certain the housing arrangements had not changed.

It took them just over two hours, but they eventually reached the outskirts of the Seventh Ward just as the sun was rising high into the sky. At the edge of the Ward, they were faced with a very high, barbed fence, and Elphaba considered what to do. When she'd last visited the city, they hadn't yet reached the point of barricading the Animals into their ghetto. Cursing under her breath, she considered scaling the fence, before deciding none of them would come through that without serious injury. Bert looked quite worried himself, and Mary watched them curiously.

Finally, throwing her shoulders back and hooking her umbrella over her shoulder, Mary said, "Really…it's just a fence."

She reached out and took Elphaba's hand on her right, and Bert's on her left. Then, with a glance at each of them, she lifted all three of them gracefully up and over the fence. Landing on the other side, she released their hands and brushed invisible imperfections off her black coat.

Elphaba turned and stared at her with a mix of amazement and annoyance, and asked, "How do you do it?"

Mary sniffed, "A bit of a permanent levitation spell."

Elphaba looked as though she wanted to ask something else, but she held her tongue. Instead, she headed down the cracked and unkempt street. Mary and Bert followed, taking in the scenery around them. As they went further into the depths of the Animal Ward, it quickly became apparent how the conditions had deteriorated. What had, at one time, been working class, tenement housing, bustling marketplaces, and decent factories, had become nothing short of a true ghetto. Animals roamed the streets, mostly unclothed, begging for scraps. Those with opposable thumbs, or who were adept at a trade, sold their wares at sagging booths or made their way into what appeared to be the one remaining factory. The stench was unbearable, and it was clear that many more thousands of Animals were packed into the few blocks of the ghetto than it could reasonably support. It was truly, horribly sad, and it gave Elphaba a sharp, nagging pain in her chest.

"This," Elphaba said, finally stopping in the middle of an open square, "is how the Animal citizens of the Emerald City are forced to live."

Mary looked entirely uncomfortable, and yet there was sadness in her eyes. Bert's expression echoed hers, but with openly displayed compassion.

Elphaba led the way for a few more blocks, finally stopping at a stout, housing complex that might have been well-kept flats at one point. Walking up the street, they could see the children, Dogs, Cats, a few Monkeys, a loan Goat, and a beautiful Leopard playing in the grimy water in the gutters. None of them wore clothes, but Elphaba and the others could hear the very real language that distinguished them from the animals.

Nodding in their direction, Elphaba said, "This is the reality of your 'magical place', Mary. These are the Animal children of Oz. They're not exactly romping through meadows and singing songs, are they?"

Elphaba could tell she'd finally struck a nerve, because Mary looked on with obvious disbelief and horror. As she watched the children, there was compassion in her eyes. After a few moments, still as poised as ever, she crossed slowly to where the Leopard and one of the Monkeys were playing with some smooth stones.

Looking down at them, she asked, "Might I ask what game you're playing?"

Startled by her addressing them, and by her strange, lyrical accent, the two children froze.

Kneeling down, Mary said, "My name is Mary Poppins, and I do like games…"

"You're human," the Leopard stated, with a twinge of bitterness.

"So I am," Mary stated matter-of-factly, "and you are a Leopard. We know each other by our spots, or lack thereof."

The Leopard, who was female, cocked her head, "But you haven't got any spots…"

Mary stood back up to her full height, and the Leopard jumped up onto the rail of the stairs nearby.

Mary stated, "Well, we can do something about that."

She pulled a small compact from her pocket and opened it primly. Checking her reflection, she brushed a bit of powder over her cheeks. Instead of blending with her smooth skin, it left two smudges of black across her cheeks.

"There," she said, "spots."

The Leopard smiled a feline grin, "Those aren't Leopard spots."

"Aye," Mary feigned annoyance, "you are a demanding child. But if you must have it your way…"

With a wave of her hand, Mary's coat changed from stark black to speckled, like the coat of a Leopard. Putting her hands on her hips, she raised her brows.

"Better?"

The Leopard giggled, "Now those are spots!"

"Well, we've spent far too much time worrying about our attire. I can't spend all day on such frivolity. I believe you were playing a game?"

With another smile, the Leopard and her Monkey friend showed Mary how they were trying to skip stones over the rivulets of water running down the uneven sidewalk. It wasn't much of a game, but it was keeping two very poor, hungry children occupied. Mary joined them, using a bit of her magic to make the stones float slowly over the water, to the children's delight.

Elphaba watched the interaction in amazement. In mere moments, Mary had won the trust of two terribly abused creatures, and she'd done it with grace and poise. She did not beg or coddle. She wasn't silly. Still, they were drawn to her, and Elphaba was fascinated. Having never had much luck with children, or getting people to trust her in general, she was impressed.

Standing just behind Elphaba, Bert sensed her reaction, and said, "This is why they love Mary. She 'as something…and it draws 'em in. It's not silly, it's a gift."

Elphaba nodded, unable to deny that much, "It is a gift, but she could do more. We could change all this…"

Bert sighed and stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, "Sometimes, you can't change people's situation. Sometimes, all you can do is 'elp 'em through it. That's what Mary does best. She 'elps them get through the 'ard times. She doesn't ask 'em to love 'er, she teaches 'em to love each other."

"That's all well and good," Elphaba replied, "but there are also times when you've got to act. You have to do something. Some things you just can't ignore and let continue."

"I suppose that's true," Bert conceded.

After another few minutes, Mary left the children to their games, although she looked reluctant to walk away. She wore a somber expression as she changed her coat back to black with a wave of her hand and wiped the spots from her face with a handkerchief. She retrieved the bag she'd been carrying, and then looked back toward the children sadly.

Elphaba was glad to see that it was all becoming more personal to Mary, as she led the way through the rest of the Animal Ward. She showed Bert and Mary the meager rations that were allowed to pass through the barricades each day. She showed them how little sanitation or basic amenities they had. In a city that was making new strides daily in mechanization, industry, and general wellness, the Animals were seeing none of those improvements. They were clearly fighting starvation, disease, and extreme poverty.

When they finally reached the south end of the Seventh Ward, Mary took them up and over the fence again. With Elphaba still leading, they made their way toward the Palace, and the wealthier business district. Elphaba wanted them to see how the other citizens of the Emerald City lived.

The change in atmosphere was almost palpable as the grime and stench was replaced with well-scrubbed cobblestones and people dressed in fine fabrics hurrying on their way. The men tipped their hats at Mary as she walked by, because, even though her clothes were not exactly the same style as Ozian aristocracy, she carried herself like royalty. Elphaba smirked a little, and hoped that both Bert and Mary would catch how superficial and pretentious it all was.

As they walked, Elphaba pointed out the signs proclaiming 'No Animals Allowed', and the guards waiting to stop and prosecute anyone breaking the law. She pointed out the newspapers, with their articles on the progress of the Animal Advocacy Laws, and the 'Reorganization of the City's Resources to Serve those Most Fit'. It was an atrocity beyond all description, and Elphaba could tell that Mary was soft-hearted enough to be shocked and devastated by what was happening. It was also clear that she hadn't realized her 'magical place' could perpetuate such horrors.

Once they reached the edge of the business district, where it became mostly wealthier housing, Elphaba turned to Bert and Mary and said, "What you've seen, this is just the city. It doesn't get much better in greater Oz. There are virtually no Animals left in Gillikin, and even the tribes of the Vinkus have started hunting them down and turning them in for insubordination. The government has cut off resources to all those who refuse to comply with the Advocacy Laws, and so those outside the city have had to choose between feeding their families and turning Animals over for capture."

Mary looked thoughtful for a moment, "In the place where you found me this morning, there have always been Animals there. The Horses have always been free, as far as I've seen…"

Elphaba sighed, "They are free, as long as they choose to live outside of society, like animals. If they return to their 'proper place and status', then the government leaves them alone."

"I see," Mary said tightly.

Elphaba considered for a moment, and then said, "Come with me again. There's something else I can show you."

Taking their hands, she leapt them through worlds again, this time ending up at the northern border of Oz, in Ugabu. Looking around, the land was sparse and encrusted with frost, like a sort-of snowy dessert. It was the worst of both climates, with nothing but rough, rocky, sand-littered ground that was covered in ice or snow most of the year. The few plants were scraggly and low-growing, and the only animals were insects that skittered across the landscape.

Just beyond where they stood was a ragged, hand-built fence that was the entrance to one of the largest Animal reservations in Oz. Elphaba had come across it quite by accident once, while trying to hone her skills at flying her broom. Now, she could see that it had only grown larger and more destitute with time. Approaching the main gate, Elphaba noticed the lone Horse standing outside, guarding.

Nodding to him, she said, "My name is Elphaba Thropp, and I've come here before. I'm an advocate for your kind, and I mean no harm."

The Horse looked her over, his eyes weary. Seeing their group consisted of two women, and Bert was hardly threatening, he allowed them to enter. Elphaba led them down the main path, which was lined with poorly constructed tents and huts made of mud bricks. Much like in the Emerald City, the Animals were thin and poorly clothed, if at all. They made their way two and from the larger tents, carrying graying bread and the bitter vegetables they could grow in this hard, frozen earth.

Watching them, Elphaba could tell that Mary was affected once again. Her dark blue eyes were wet with compassion, even though she kept her chin high and said nothing. Then, without a word of explanation, she crossed the path to where a young Wolf child was playing with a doll. It was frayed and torn, and the child looked at it somberly. Very quietly, Mary sat down on an ancient tree stump next to the girl and held out her hand for the doll. Shocked, the Wolf handed it over. Taking it, Mary shed her gloves and opened her worn carpet bag. From its depths, she pulled some scraps of cloth, a needle, and thread. Then, she methodically began to patch the holes and mend the tears in the doll. With nimble fingers, she made the toy whole again.

Handing it back to the child, she said, "I think she's feeling much better now, don't you think?"

The little Wolf smiled and whispered, "Yes."

"Best you run along and play with her. She'll want to stretch her limbs, now that she's mended," Mary instructed.

Her spirits lifted, the Wolf girl snatched her doll up and scampered off toward a group of children playing in the distance. As she watched, Elphaba could see her showing them her patched toy.

Mary replaced her sewing supplies and slowly returned, and Elphaba dared to ask, "How do you do that?"

Mary cocked her head in question.

"How do you know what they each want? How do you know what will make them trust you?" Elphaba clarified.

Mary looked down for a moment, and then answered, "I look past what I see. I don't just see the cover. I see the story."

Elphaba was again amazed, "So you can hear their thoughts then? You can do that too?"

Mary let out a musical laugh, "If only I was that good. No…I get a sense of things. I look past the superficial, I suppose."

"Still," Elphaba said, "that's not easy."

"She's always been able to do that, though," Bert spoke up, "look inside of people and just…know."

Mary gave him a quick glance, and then turned her focus back toward the path ahead.

Elphaba was quiet for a moment, realizing that she was starting to dislike Mary just a bit less. She still thought her to be terribly self-absorbed and frivolous, but there was clearly heart at the root of her actions. There was kindness underneath her stoic, proud exterior.

After several moments of silence, Elphaba continued on, leading them on a slow tour of the Animal Reservation. It was as heartbreaking as the Seventh Ward had been, and they were all equally somber when they made their way back out the gate through which they'd come. Standing there quietly, they all lost themselves in thought for a moment, considering all that they'd seen.

"That's just awful…that any creature would have to live like that…" Bert mused.

"It is," Mary said softly, studying the sky.

"This is the reality for them, though," Elphaba spoke up, "unless someone can finally find a way to do something."

Mary looked very thoughtful for a moment, and then leveled Elphaba with her gaze, saying, "From what I've learned in my time, you can only do so much to help in a situation like this, though. When someone is captive, in any way, they will only truly be free if they free themselves. You can give them the tools, the encouragement, even lead the way…but they have to cry freedom for themselves."

Elphaba was dumbfounded for a moment, because there was wisdom in the statement. She'd always fought so hard to change things _for_ the Animals that she'd never considered their part. She'd never thought of them as being the army itself. It was a lot to think about, suddenly.

After another long moment of silence, Bert said, "It's getting late, and I believe we've long since missed lunch…"

"So we have," Mary agreed.

"Well then," Elphaba stepped closer to Mary and met her eyes, "what do you think, now? Will you help me?"

Mary studied Elphaba in return for a long moment. Then, she closed her eyes. She stood that way for some time, as though she were listening again. Neither Elphaba nor Bert knew what to expect, so they just watched her, curious.

After a few minutes, Mary opened her eyes and said, "As I said before, I'll stay till the wind changes. Your cause is worthwhile, and I'll do what I can. But only until I'm needed."

Elphaba crossed her arms over her chest and asked, "What does that mean? The wind is constantly changing…"

"You must learn to listen with your spirit," Mary said, picking up her carpet bag and hugging her umbrella to her chest once more.

Elphaba bit back her usual sarcasm, because she sensed there might be some truth in that statement. Still, she could do without the vague, obscure answers from Mary.

Taking a deep breath, she said, "We should go back home. My home, anyway. I don't know that we can stay the night in Oz without raising questions. But first…there's something I need."

Elphaba held out her hands, and Bert and Mary took them with only mild curiosity as to what she meant. After another leap, the three of them stood in the courtyard of Kiamo Ko. Elphaba immediately started toward the door, but both Bert and Mary looked very confused.

"Whatever is this?" Mary asked warily.

"This is Kiamo Ko," Elphaba called over her shoulder.

"It's a castle…" Bert said, staring upward at the soaring walls in amazement.

Elphaba rolled her eyes for her own benefit, "Yes, it's a castle," she pulled open the heavy door that hadn't been properly barred in years, "and this is where I spent the last few years of my life in Oz."

Bert and Mary followed warily, because they had little other choice.

Elphaba moved quickly through the dusty corridors, brushing away cobwebs and kicking aside scattered debris that had been left unattended for years. Her last few weeks before her near-melting had been chaotic, and were mostly a blur to her. She remembered little of what had happened, except that she'd barely slept. Elphaba knew she'd probably torn the castle apart in her madness and paranoia, but she didn't like to dwell on the idea. Instead, she focused on finding which wing and tower she'd been in when Dorothy had thrown water on her. She'd been here several times in the past few months, but she'd yet to bother searching the place. There were so many negative feelings, so many things she wanted to forget about herself. Now, though, she wanted her hat.

Starting in the west wing, she scaled each of the towers, not exactly sure which route she'd taken when she'd run, crazed, from Dorothy. It took some time, but she eventually she managed to make her way up the tallest parapet, just off the storage chambers behind the kitchen. Bert and Mary followed her curiously, studying the castle and trying not to show their weariness at having spent all day trekking around Oz.

Finally, in the highest room, where the cobwebs were the thickest, Elphaba stopped. She surveyed the scene with mixed emotions. She'd been so out of her mind the last time she'd been here that she wasn't sure what to feel, now. All she could muster was a touch of bitterness that she'd let herself get to the point of chasing an adolescent girl around this dark and damp castle. This would have been a very sad place for her life to have ended, indeed.

Instead of dwelling on it, Elphaba surveyed the room's contents. There was just an overturned chair, a broken table, and several buckets for catching rainwater through the leaking roof. The buckets were now full to overflowing, and she moved around them carefully as she searched. In the corner, where she must have been standing when Dorothy threw the water, was a pile of cloth. Kneeling down and carefully picking through it, Elphaba realized it was her clothes. Most of them had been burned and rotted beyond recognition, but the shoes were mostly intact. Not finding anything of use, she was starting to lose hope when something caught her eye. In the corner of the room, behind the heavy, wooden door that was almost never closed, lay an overturned bucket. Just behind it was a shadow of something. Crossing the space, Elphaba reached behind the door and produced her hat.

It was dusty and somewhat bent out of shape, but it was hers. The point of the cone and the swoop of the brim were unmistakable. Brushing it off and bending it back the way she thought it should be, Elphaba placed it on her head. Pulling it down over her brow, it felt like an old friend. It was familiar. It felt like the piece that had been missing for some time, as superficial as that seemed.

Staring at her, Bert and Mary looked caught between laughter and concern. After a moment, Bert asked, "Is that what you've come for?"

Elphaba nodded, adjusting the brim again.

"Really?" Mary sniffed, "It's quit untidy…and not very flattering."

Elphaba grit her teeth, "I don't think I asked for your opinion. It's mine, and that's what matters," she seethed, "Haven't you ever had anything that was simply _yours_? It made you who you are, for whatever reason? Have you never kept something just because it made you feel a certain way?"

Mary's expression softened, and she wrapped her arms around herself suddenly, touching the sleeves of her coat. Still, she said nothing.

As Elphaba continued to fuss with the hat, Mary stared. After a moment, she sat her carpet bag down and studied Elphaba more closely. Elphaba stopped moving when Mary took a step towards her, her expression suddenly quite intense.

"What?" Elphaba asked rather harshly.

"You…" Mary stated, her eyes wide, "You're…you're the Wicked Witch of the West…from the stories…"

For a moment, as Mary looked at her, Elphaba saw Dorothy. She saw the innocence and the fear. She saw the disbelief and confusion.

Fighting back a thousand fiery retorts, Elphaba managed to reply, "Yes…I am. I was. I was given a title based on neither my nature nor my abilities. I'm hardly a decent witch, and I do not believe I've ever been awful enough to qualify as wicked. The only thing I'll claim is the west, because I do love the way the sun goes out in such a blaze of glory when it dies each day…"

Mary was still wide-eyed when she said, "I thought...all the tales of the Wicked Witch…I thought they were just stories, for 'round the fireplace…"

"Well," Elphaba answered, "I thought your type of magic, all the things you can do, was just a fireplace story, myself."

"I suppose we're even, then," Mary said carefully.

"I suppose," Elphaba conceded, "But it took you all this time to realize who I am? As much as it pains me to ask this, didn't the green give me away?"

Mary cocked her head again, "I don't remember that you were green in the stories…strangely colored perhaps, maybe even grotesque in features, but it was the hat I remember. They always talked about the hat…and the broom…the flying on the broom…"

Mary suddenly stopped, as though she'd realized something.

Elphaba tried not to react to being called grotesque, and said, "Yes…the broom. The broom gave me flight, and now it's gone. Although, at one time, I could've rivaled you with my ability to fly."

"Perhaps we do have that in common," Mary said softly, and Elphaba appreciated the concession.

They made their way back down the stairs then, all of them sorely in need of some supper. Satisfied with having her hat back, Elphaba left everything else the way she'd found it. She knew the broom was nowhere to be found, because Dorothy claimed that Liir had taken it, along with her cloak.

Once back outside in the courtyard, Elphaba prepared to take hands and leap them all back to Kansas. Mary stopped her though, looking around one last time at the castle as a whole. Her expression was contemplative as she raked her eyes over the place, as though she were trying to remember something.

After a long moment, she said, "For some reason…I know this place…"

"What?" Elphaba demanded.

"It's likely nothing. Just a faded memory," Mary explained, "let's get on before we all starve."

Exhausted, Elphaba gladly took their hands again and leapt them all back to Kansas.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

It was late when they arrived back at the farm, and Elphaba could see that Mae already had dinner ready in the main house. The lights were also burning at her home, across the pond. Wearily, they crossed the yard to the main house. Leading Bert and Mary up the steps and into Mae's kitchen, Elphaba hoped their presence would not upset anyone. Mae was not, after all, expecting company.

When they came through the door, all the noise of dinner stopped. Mae stared first at Elphaba and Bert, clearly relieved to see them. Then, she studied Mary. It took just another second for Dorothy to realize who they were. With a little squeal, she jumped from her seat and ran to greet them.

Stopping just in front of Mary she said, "Oh, I hoped we would see you again! Can we go on another outing, please? Will you show us more magic?"

"Really," Mary huffed, "you are a demanding child…and such an imagination…"

Elphaba rolled her eyes, "This is Dorothy, again. And you don't have to pretend around us. Everyone here knows about Oz."

Mary looked around, somewhat startled.

"Well," Mae stood then, "let's get you all some supper and then we can talk about where you've been all day. Mary, I presume? It's good to have you, if you'll join us."

It was an order, said with kindness, so the three of them headed toward the table. Elphaba gave Mary a quick introduction for everyone else's sake. Exhausted, overwhelmed with information, and having few other options for supper, Mary nodded primly before joining the group. Bert followed suit, and dinner proceeded. Elphaba made a quick run to the other house to let Fiyero know that she'd returned, but then came back, as not to leave her guests alone.

They were all starving, and were therefore grateful for a good meal. The conversation might've been a bit awkward, considering how little they knew of Mary, but they were all considerate. Then, they helped clean up, as was usual. No one ever wanted to leave Mae with the work of cleaning up after so many people. So Dorothy took scraps to the pigs and Bert helped Wilbur and Henry fetch clean water. Mary, who was used to always being someone's houseguest, lent a hand as well.

As they cleared dishes, Elphaba noticed that Mary didn't touch the dirty plates. She lifted everything into a large, wooden bowl with a wave of her hand, and then placed it by the washbasin as though nothing unusual had happened. It was so effortless, so common, and Elphaba was itching to know how it was done.

So after they'd scrubbed the kitchen and Mae had figured out how to accommodate two more houseguests, Elphaba asked Mary to sit with her on the sofa in front of the large fireplace to talk. Mary conceded, perhaps because she was too tired to formulate a good argument. So they sat together, and Elphaba struggled with what to ask first.

Eventually, she asked, "I want to know how you do it…how do you work spells so effortlessly?"

Mary folded her hands, which were without her gloves now, in her lap. Sitting there in just her deep blue skirt and starched white shirtwaist, the firelight cast shadows on her face as she considered the question. Finally, she said, "I don't know that I should tell you."

"Why not?" Elphaba demanded.

"Because…the very nature of magic is in its elusiveness. And I'm already quite bothered by the fact that you've made me admit to using magic at all."

Elphaba was once again frustrated, "That might be true…for carnival shows and whimsical games. But we're talking about using magick for the sake of an entire race of creatures. We don't have time for secrets."

Mary fixed her eyes on Elphaba, "You don't think what I do is very important, do you?"

Elphaba caught herself before she said something snide, "Do you?" she asked instead.

"Yes," Mary snapped, "I make a difference for more people than you realize."

"So that's why you chose your line of work? Because children like floating toys and frolicking trips into Oz?" Elphaba said, a bit more harshly than she'd intended.

Mary's eyes were serious, and very genuine, as she said, "No, Miss Elphaba. Children are terribly important. Children need the chance to experience a little magic, to stretch their minds and imagine the impossible. It makes them grow into people who are not bound by prejudice and cynicism. The more a child experiences, the more he is willing to give back, the more he believes he can accomplish. Although my charges may not be able to fly or levitate their toys, by seeing it done, they stop creating boundaries for themselves. They will go after what they really want, rather than be bound up by doubt and fear. Children are what the future rests upon. Neither this world, nor Oz, can afford to have a generation of children who have no dreams, even nearly impossible ones, and who never question convention."

There was a moment of silence, and Elphaba could not argue with Mary's reasoning. She was also a little surprised that Mary's motives were so very complicated, and so noble. She'd imagined Mary just enjoyed doing parlor tricks for giggling children. She'd thought perhaps it was simply an ego boost for Miss Practically Perfect. What she'd said, however, sounded more like Elphaba than Elphaba wanted to admit.

Mary looked down for a moment, her long lashes brushing her porcelain cheeks as she laced her fingers together in her lap, "I also love them, Miss Elphaba. I don't tell them, lest they attach themselves to me too strongly, but I show them love at times in their lives when love is scarce. And I teach them to love each other, so they can let me go, when it's time…"

Elphaba stared at Mary, seeing her a bit differently, as though yet another layer had been peeled away. When Mary looked up and fixed Elphaba with her intense, deep blue eyes, Elphaba couldn't help but see the sincerity. For all her snobbish vanity, Mary was passionate about her chosen profession.

"I suppose I can understand your motives," Elphaba conceded.

Mary raised her chin in the air again as she said, "You must remember, those who are children now, are our leaders tomorrow. These people you want to fight against, these selfish adults who have learned only greed and prejudice, they were once children themselves."

Elphaba studied the fire, hating to admit the wisdom Mary was displaying, "Still," she asked, "don't you think you could be using your magic to do greater things? If you would show me how it's done, I'm sure we could gather an army, move a mountain, even."

"Perhaps," Mary admitted, "but I think magic should be a subtler influence than that. Magic provides a gentle push in one direction or the other. It lets you listen to the wind and understand someone's needs. It lets you show someone the stars, so they can try to reach them. Magic should not plow people over like some sort of unstoppable bolder. It's a chisel, working at the foundation until the entire building is moved. You want me to go to Oz and put on an impressive show, but that won't truly change anyone."

Elphaba sighed, "I guess we see things differently, then. You think parlor tricks are enough, but I believe Oz is too corrupt for magic that just makes people feel better. In the same way that you sometimes need to call up an army to force the hand of a tyrant, sometimes you need powerful magic to get things done. And you…you could give the Animals the power of flight, which is a great advantage over an enemy. You could wipe out the Gale Force outposts with one spell. You could meet with whoever is calling himself Oz's leader this month, and demand things change, with the threat of all kind of spells…"

Mary furrowed her brow, "I've told you before, I'm not meant to lead an army. And I won't fight violence with violence. That is not who I am."

"Then who, or what, are you?" Elphaba demanded angrily.

Mary's eyes were dark for a moment, and then she said briskly, "I am Mary Poppins. I'm just one person who believes very strongly in the power of people to change themselves," she took a breath, "You can't right all the wrong in this world, Miss Elphaba, or in Oz, or in any other place, for that matter. You'll never be able to make everything perfect."

"This, coming from someone who claims to be perfect?" Elphaba snapped.

"Practically Perfect, Miss Elphaba. Not perfect," Mary corrected, "And I am not part of this world, or Oz, for that matter. I'm an exception to the rule."

"The rule of perfection?" Elphaba looked incredulous, "that's a pretty haughty claim."

"So it is," Mary said evenly.

"Then, if you're not from either world, explain where you came from."

"I never explain anything," Mary snapped, looking away.

"I see," Elphaba sighed, "Then, will you at least show me how you managed the levitation spell? It's somewhat…personal to me."

Mary turned back and considered Elphaba carefully, "Flight is hard to resist, isn't it? I don't think I could do without it, now that I've known it..."

Elphaba agreed with just a nod.

Mary stood up then, and crossed back to where she'd left her carpet bag by the door. She brought it back over to where they were sitting, and set it down at her feet. Then, Mary opened it and rummaged around. Finally, from its depths, she produced a large tome. It was thick, heavy, and cracked across its spine. The front was ornately carved and covered in strange symbols that were not exactly letters or words. It seemed entirely too big to have fit in her bag, but that was not Elphaba's main concern. Her primary source of shock and disbelief was that the book was the Grimmerie.

Staring up at her from Mary's hands was the book for which Elphaba had spent months searching. It was the book the Wizard had vowed to find. It was the book that held more secrets than the world itself. And here it was, in Mary's carpet bag.

"How in all Oz?" Elphaba choked out.

Mary brushed off the book, nonchalant, "I came across it as a child, and read from it. I believe it's how I first discovered my magic. At first, I needed the spells to do things. Then, I eventually discovered I could cast permanent spells that didn't require chanting, or the book. Every time I returned to Oz to look for it, it lay where it always had, in a pile of dust. It appeared abandoned, unclaimed, and unwanted. So I took it. In fact…" she looked thoughtful for a moment, "I think that's why your castle looked so familiar. I think that's where I found this…"

Elphaba felt a mix of anger and excitement. It seemed absolutely implausible that this book she'd been searching for, that had been so important, was being carted around London by a magic nanny. Very quietly, she said, "You have no idea what this is."

Elphaba took the book from Mary's hands and ran her fingers over the cover. Opening it slowly, her breath caught as she studied the strange markings on the heavy, uneven pages. The words seemed to shimmer and dissolve across the paper, only committing themselves if she left the book open to any page for too long. Elphaba had to shake herself to believe what she was seeing was real. Again, she said, "You simply have no idea what you have…what you've had. This book…this is the Grimmerie..."

Mary watched Elphaba flip the pages, and said, "How can it be so important if it sits and gathers dust?"

Elphaba struggled for a moment, "No one else has ever been able to read it…"

After another moment, Mary said, "I can."

"So can I," Elphaba echoed.

They looked at each other for a moment, each making a realization, yet not wanting to admit it.

Handing the book back to Mary, Elphaba said, "Prove it."

Raising her chin, Mary took the book once again. Carefully flipping through the pages, she selected a passage and ran her hands over the script. Reading slowly, her lyrical accent made her sound all the more magical as the strange words rolled off her tongue. Holding her hands in the air as she chanted, Mary created a spectacle of colored lights between her palms. Moving slowly, she made the ethereal prism follow her hands and then float just over her head. Then, with a flick of her wrists, she dissolved it into a shower of stardust that covered her cheeks with shimmering flecks of light. Finished, she turned and gave Elphaba a tiny smile.

Reaching over to take the book back, Elphaba flipped through the pages herself. Choosing a spell, she began to chant. Focusing on the fireplace, she slowly began to control the flames, making them leap and twist as she chose. Then, for her finale, she made the blaze burn white-hot, so that it was nearly blue. Then, she stopped, and it returned to embers.

There was a moment of silence then, with neither sure what to say. For all their similarities, they were still so different, so mismatched, that they weren't sure how to communicate.

Eventually, Elphaba said, "The levitation spell…"

Showing signs of fatigue for the first time, Mary rubbed her eyes and said, "It's getting late…"

Elphaba looked at her intensely, and Mary sighed her concession. Taking the book once again, she flipped the pages carefully and said, "It's not simply a levitation spell."

"What?"

Mary flipped the pages again, and indicated for Elphaba to watch her. Sliding closer to Mary than was exactly comfortable for two people who weren't yet friends, Elphaba also looked at the pages of the Grimmerie. Mary began to flip them slowly from back to front, using her thumb. Spaced throughout the book, on the edges of the pages when the pages were flipped in quick succession, was a sequence of letters. Elphaba watched Mary flip through them several times, trying to catch what it said.

"It took me quite some time to get the letters right," Mary said softly, "since you can only see them if you do this quickly. They fade if you stop and try to catch them."

"And?" Elphaba said with anticipation.

Reaching into her bag and drawing out some sheets of paper and a good pen, Mary began to scrawl out letters on the paper. Taking her time, it took her several minutes to get them all down. Them, in a low voice, she began to read, "Super…cali…fragil…"

Elphaba continued, "…istic…expi…ali…docious…" she looked at Mary in disbelief, "but that's nonsense."

"So it is," Mary agreed, "but it's powerful nonsense."

Elphaba crossed her arms, "I'm certain you're trying to make a fool of me now. There's no way I'm saying that. That's no spell. It doesn't sound like any spell I've ever heard."

Mary carefully closed the book, "Believe that, if you like. But who's to say what spells should sound like?"

Elphaba quirked her eyebrow upward, "And this is what makes you fly? Really?"

"No," Mary said softly, "this is what makes me not need spells."

"I don't understand…"

Mary looked up toward the ceiling for a moment, and then answered, "It's as though I cast the spell on myself. I covered myself, metaphorically, in it, and now the magic bends to my will. What I want, it does."

Elphaba was dumbfounded, "I've never known anyone else with that ability…"

Mary shook her head, "Neither have I. And I've looked. I've tested it."

"How?" Elphaba looked doubtful.

"I made it into a song. I've had children sing it. I've had Bert sing it. I've had Animals sing it. It does nothing for anyone else except provide a certain amount of amusement."

"A song?" Elphaba raised her eyebrow again.

Mary would not be teased, "There is power in song, Miss Elphaba. I know you think my singing is silly, frivolous even. Maybe you think I belong in a children's carnival sideshow. But there can be great influence, through music."

Elphaba didn't answer, because, in spite of how she felt, she couldn't argue against that, and she wasn't above singing, herself. Instead, she thought about this spell, this ludicrous word, this ridiculous, yet simple way to work such magic. It just didn't seem possible.

Just then, while they were both lost in thought, Bert came around the corner from the parlor. Neither was sure how long he'd been standing there, and he approached slowly, hands in his pockets. Without his jacket, he was far from imposing. He was gangly and not quite tall enough to be Mary's match, Elphaba observed again. His dark hair tended to form unruly curls from being under his cap, and was not exactly well-trimmed. He was as ordinary as Mary was extrordinary. Still, his brown eyes were kind, and his smile contagious. And, for whatever reason, he would travel the world for Mary. So, sensing they had unfinished business, Elphaba stood to leave the room.

Before she could go, Bert said to her, "I've 'eard that song…that she's talking about, with the spell-word. I always thought it was just good fun…but she's right, it doesn't work on me…"

Elphaba looked at him, and then at Mary. She wasn't sure what to think about Bert having overheard them. She wasn't sure if he could be a help, or a liability. For whatever reason, though, Mary trusted him. So Elphaba gave him a tiny smile.

"I think this has been quite enough for tonight," she said, "We should get some sleep. They'll be time tomorrow to talk more."

Elphaba headed out the kitchen door toward home, then, with Mary's strange, magical word still on her lips.

Bert watched her go, still not sure what to think of Elphaba, himself. She was brash, quick to snap, and very driven. She scared him a little, with her dark intensity. Still, she brought something out of Mary that he thought might be good. She'd gotten Mary talking, which no one else could do. So he smiled at her retreating back, and then went to sit across from Mary. As he sat down, she touched the large book in her lap.

"Good evening, Bert," she said softly.

"Evenin' Mary," he answered.

There was silence then, as they watched the fire.

Bert finally cleared his throat, and said, "I 'aven't 'ad a chance yet…to apologize…"

"Whatever for?" Mary asked, trying to sound light.

Bert stared at her, "Don't do that, Mary. I shouldn't've kissed you…it was wrong and presumptuous. You don't return my feelings…but you don't 'ave to pretend nothing 'appened."

Mary looked away for a moment, and then met his eyes, "You're right, Bert. And I shouldn't have hit you. I am sorry, because you are my dear, dear friend, but…you have to understand…there are certain things that just can't be."

Bert sighed and looked at his hands, "I understand, and I'd never want to be without your friendship. It means the world to me."

Mary nodded, "Likewise, Bert."

"I also 'ope you're not upset…that I came looking for you. That I 'elped Miss Elphaba find you," he added.

She met his eyes again and, after a moment, said, "No, Bert. You've always been the one person I share my fantasy world with. And…and I do care about you, Bert, very much. Very much, indeed."

As she continued to look at him, her eyes were intense, and Bert couldn't tear his gaze away. In spite of being turned down, romantically, he couldn't stop looking at her. He couldn't pull himself away, no matter how tired he was. He was spellbound, as always.


	9. Chapter 9

**Here's more to enjoy. Just a note...the spell used later in this chapter is actually one that was supposed to be in the Wicked musical libretto. It was removed, and what it would have 'done' is unknown.**

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**Chapter 9**

The following morning, when they were all rested and in better spirits, Elphaba came over early to make sure Bert and Mary were coping well enough. In the big house, Mae and the others were just finishing breakfast. When Elphaba came through the kitchen door, Adrian was asking Mary if she'd ever traveled as far as Germany. He very rarely got the chance to talk about his country of birth, and Elphaba could tell he appreciated that Mary came from the same part of the world. Tessy was watching him with a slight smile on her face, her hands on her softly rounding stomach.

Dorothy was watching Mary with obviously fascination, and both Emily and Henry were struggling to get her to finish her breakfast. Mae seemed amused by the whole interaction, and Wilbur ate in silence, undoubtedly wondering how many more houseguests Mae might take in. The kitchen was alive with activity, and Elphaba was glad that everyone seemed to be getting along. She had been worried that Mary might be a bit much for all of them to take, but she'd forgotten that the same woman who was somewhat insufferable when questioned spent most of her time living in other people's homes.

So Elphaba crossed to the table and took an empty seat. She listened to everyone chatting for a few minutes, and then asked Tessy if she was still having trouble eating breakfast. Tessy had expressed her frustration recently that her pregnancy was making her mornings somewhat miserable.

Tessy replied, "I've been better this week…and today the biscuits are going down all right."

Elphaba smiled in encouragement.

"It's my understanding that ginger root might be of help to you. It's excellent in tea, and will help the sickness while you're expecting," Mary chimed in.

The conversation became muted as they all considered Mary's advice. Elphaba quirked up an eyebrow, wondering if there was any end to the things Mary knew.

"I've seen quite a number of women through their pregnancies, while tending their older children," Mary explained.

It was quite an innocent statement, and a very true one, but it still struck Elphaba as a bit odd. Saying something like that made Mary sound much older than she looked. She dispensed wisdom like someone Mae's age, but her doe-eyed, porcelain features belonged to someone who couldn't be more than thirty. It was another strange thing about Mary that Elphaba couldn't quite explain. Shaking it off, Elphaba perked up as Mae started to clear the dishes, and addressed Bert and Mary.

"So…are their big plans in Oz today? Or will I have dinner guests again tonight?" she said with a smile.

Both Bert and Mary looked to Elphaba.

"I believe we'll be here for at least a few days. At least through Christmas," Elphaba answered, and she could see that that made Mae happy, "We have quite a bit of preparation to do before we try anything in Oz."

Mae looked more than pleased, "You're more than welcome to stay here," she offered to Bert and Mary, "I've waited years for this big 'ole farm house to be full of people. We certainly have the room. We'll take good care of you until Elphaba has you crusading in Oz again."

Mary gave her an odd look, as though she weren't quite used to hearing her magical place referred to so casually. She wasn't used to having her secret out in the open. In spite of her uneasiness, she said, "I've told Miss Elphaba that I'll stay 'till the wind changes. We haven't yet discussed exactly what business we'll be attending to while we're together. I would be happy to be a guest in your home, though, so long as I can be of some use."

Mae nodded and smiled, "You've been more than a help already, thank you."

Emily cleared her throat softly then, and said, "Maybe…you could help Dorothy, with her lessons? She's gettin' beyond what I learned in my few years of schoolin', and you seem…I mean, you sound as though you might have…"

Mary stood and gave a quick nod to Emily, "I've more than twelve years of formal schooling, including college and finishing school. I'd be more than happy to help, as long as Dorothy minds me."

Dorothy's face lit up as she said, "That would be just wonderful! And I don't mind you at all!"

There was a smattering of laughter at the child's mistake, and Mary corrected, "To mind me means that you'll do as I say, and be on your best behavior."

Dorothy blushed, "Oh yes…I will."

Seeming much more at ease, now that she had a purpose, Mary answered, "All right then, show me your lessons. We've no time to waste…spit spot."

Dorothy happily led Mary to the study where she did her schoolwork, and Elphaba watched them go with an amused smile. Then, she turned back to Bert, who had cleared his dishes, and now looked rather lost.

"I presume you'll be staying with us as well?" Elphaba addressed him, "Since you've come all the way from London?"

Bert nodded, "Yes…I'd like to 'elp you and Mary…with whatever you 'ave planned. Even though I certainly don't 'ave any magic of my own..."

Elphaba smirked, "I suppose we can find something for you to do."

"And," Bert looked a little sheepish, "I don't know that I'll be getting back to London without your 'elp, seeing as I don't 'ave any more money…"

Elphaba gave a shrill little chuckle, "I suppose we're stuck with each other then, aren't we? At least until I decided to leap you back to London?"

Bert gave a little smile.

Elphaba sent him out with Wilbur and Henry then, because there was wood to be chopped and the older men could always use a hand.

Since all seemed to be going smoothly for the moment, Elphaba decided this might be the time to try out Mary's spell word. Elphaba was itching to fly again, and to have the kind of control over magick that Mary had. She was still somewhat skeptical of saying such a ridiculous-sounding spell, but she was willing to try if it meant flight. She'd even considered, overnight, that she might not need Mary's help as desperately if she was able to master some of that type of magick herself.

So Elphaba headed out into the fields, to the place where some shade trees grew near the pond. It was her favorite spot for reading, thinking, or practicing spells. She and Dorothy had often come here to make their attempts at leaping into Oz. Now, she would try Mary's spell here. Finding a shady spot beneath a spreading maple tree, Elphaba took a deep breath. Closing her eyes for focus, Elphaba let the long, somewhat silly word Mary had taught her roll off her tongue.

"Super…cali…fragil…istic…expi…ali…docious."

Then, she waited. Elphaba waited to feel differently. After a few moments, when nothing seemed to have changed, she tried again. And then again. She tried slowing it down, and then saying it faster. Each time, there was no discernable difference. Growing frustrated, Elphaba tried a very basic light-generating spell, to see if her power had been at all changed or enhanced. She could still barely create a small, glowing light in her palms. That was as much as she'd been able to do in this world, with the exception of the spell she'd used from the Grimmerie the night before. Clearly, reading from the ancient book amplified the little power she had here. Mary's spell word, however, seemed to be doing nothing.

Still, she tried again. For nearly an hour she tried everything she could think of. She said the spell fast and slow. She closed her eyes and opened them. She tried chanting it. Feeling absolutely ridiculous, she even tried giving it a melody and singing it. Nothing worked. Her power was still as pathetic as it had been the day before. And she most certainly could not fly.

Feeling utterly, entirely aggravated, Elphaba gave up. Stomping back towards the house, she determined that Mary must know more than she was saying. There had to be something else, or perhaps Mary had just been playing a trick. Maybe this word really was nonsense. Perhaps Mary had wanted to see Elphaba make a fool of herself. It made Elphaba angrier and angrier, as she walked.

By the time she reached the farmhouse, she was ready to pounce. Searching the first floor, she found the study where Dorothy did her lessons empty. The books and pencils were neatly stacked, but there was no sign of Mary or Dorothy. So Elphaba climbed the stairs and searched the rooms that belonged to Emily, Henry, and Dorothy. They were empty was well. Elphaba then climbed the stairs to the third floor. She passed Tessy and Adrian's bedroom and made her way down the hall to the two guest rooms on the west side of the farmhouse. The one that had once been her room, before she and Fiyero were married, was where Mary was staying. Peering inside, Elphaba found them.

Mary was unpacking her things from her carpet bag, and Dorothy was sitting on the bed. The young girl's eyes were wide, and it took Elphaba only a moment to realize why. With a graceful flourish, Mary managed to produce a hat stand from her bag. Standing it in the corner of the room, she placed her black hat on one of the pegs, along with two others she pulled from the bag. Then, she crossed back to where her bag sat, on the table at the foot of the bed, and pulled crisp bed linens from its depths. Handing them to Dorothy, she began to pull out skirts, shirts, and all other manner of clothes. She even pulled out an extra pair of shiny boots. Dorothy's mouth dropped open further when Mary produced an oil lamp fixed on a delicate stand. She handed it to Dorothy to place by the bed, and carried on. Lastly, she pulled out another coat, much like her black one, but in bright, cherry red. Mary looked at it lovingly, brushing invisible dust off the black edging at the collar and on the cuffs.

Shaking out the wrinkles, she crossed to hang it next to her black coat on the pegs by the door, saying, "If clothes make the person, Dorothy, then I'd like to be known by this coat. It's quite sharp, isn't it?"

Dorothy nodded, "I've never seen such beautiful clothes."

"Well, one must always try to look tip top. You never know who you might run into," Mary chimed.

"You must run into a lot of wonderful people," Dorothy breathed.

"Mostly children, like yourself. Now, best you move and help me with the bedding. I sense you like things tidy."

Dorothy hopped off the bed and smiled, "How do you know?"

"Just a guess," Mary replied, "but…I do have a way to find out a bit more about you…"

She crossed back to her carpet bag, and Dorothy watched as she fished out a measuring tape that one might use for cutting fabric for sewing. Unwinding it from its spool, Mary let one end drop near Dorothy's feet and ran the tape up Dorothy's side to the crown of her head. Pinching it, she turned it to read what it said.

"A daydreamer who is often forgetful, but takes pride in her work," Mary read.

"It says that?" Dorothy breathed.

Mary quickly showed her the tape, and then began to wind it up again, "I use it for all my charges. Helps me to know what I'm working with."

"Charges?" Dorothy questioned.

"Oh dear…" Mary huffed at the child's continued misunderstanding of her foreign expressions, "Charges, meaning children."

"What does it say about you?" Dorothy asked about the measuring tape, as any child would.

Mary stopped winding. With a little sigh, she let the tape unwind until it matched her height. Then she pinched it as she'd done with Dorothy.

Holding it out for the child to see, Dorothy read from the tape, "Practically Perfect."

"Of course," Mary said with a smile.

Elphaba, who was still standing outside the door, was not amused. Stomping into the room then, she pointed a finger at Mary and said, "I'd like to call that into question, if I may!"

"What?" Mary looked genuinely startled.

"No one is perfect! Everyone in _every _world knows that! You might be beautiful and well-dressed and perfectly put together, but you _cannot_ be perfect! Everyone has flaws. I think your first, most obvious, one, is that you are a liar!" Elphaba accused.

Dorothy looked horrified, and Mary seemed genuinely confused when she said, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Elphaba took a step closer to Mary and argued, "You told me that your ridiculous spell-word gave you all these powers! You acted as though you'd bestowed your greatest secret upon me! But it does _not_ work! And I just want to know if you ever plan to be honest with me, or if you just enjoy playing games? I don't understand you, and I don't have time to be silly! There is a lot at stake in Oz, and my homeland matters a great deal to me! Even if _you_ don't care!"

Mary took a deep breath, put her chin in the air, and said, "I am not a liar, Miss Elphaba."

"Then, what happened?" Elphaba demanded, "If what you told me was the truth, why am I still essentially powerless?"

"I don't know, Miss Elphaba," Mary sighed, "Perhaps it's not meant for you. Perhaps it's just for me."

Elphaba grit her teeth, "Well that would be fitting, wouldn't it? The universe decides to give limitless power to a _nanny_, so she can pull furniture out of a magic bag! What an incredible waste of talent!"

Mary looked genuinely wounded, but held her ground as she said, "Maybe you should look to yourself for answers, before you start accusing me."

"I don't have time for pointless, self-introspection! I've waited _decades_ to be powerful enough to change things in Oz! To do something meaningful with my life! You know more about this spell than you're telling me, I'm sure of it! And I am out of patience with asking you to help me!" Elphaba shrieked.

"Have you ever considered that some self-introspection might help you?" Mary asked softly, her even tone never faltering.

With the measuring tape still in her hand, she crossed to where Elphaba stood and let it unwind. Before Elphaba could react, Mary pinched the tape at just Elphaba's height. Then, she turned and looked at it. In a calm voice, she read, "Short-tempered, prone to overreaction, often self-loathing, yet passionate and secretly tenderhearted."

True to her evaluation, Elphaba's temper flared. She reached out and tried to snatch the tape measure from Mary's hand. Mary jerked backward at the same time, and Elphaba seized her arm instead. Gripping Mary's forearm, she hissed, "I seriously doubt I can trust the evaluation of someone who thinks she's perfect!"

Not trying to pull away, Mary said, "It doesn't lie, Miss Elphaba. And I have no more control over who I am, than you have over who you are."

The statement was enough to silence Elphaba, momentarily, and make her think. As she did so, she continued to hold Mary's arm. After a moment, Elphaba realized there was a warmth spreading through her fingers and down her own arm. It was as though she could feel the magick flowing through Mary. It was disconcerting, and Elphaba released her grip.

Mary stepped back and rubbed her arm where Elphaba had held her. Then, she rolled up the tape measure in silence.

After a long, tense moment, Elphaba said, "If you're not going to tell me your secret, the _real _secret, then at least give me the book. The Grimmerie."

Mary considered her for a moment, and then crossed back to her bag. Dropping the tape measure inside, she reached in and produced the heavy, ancient book. Almost like a peace offering, she handed it to Elphaba, saying, "I am many things, Miss Elphaba, but I am not a liar. If I choose to speak, I call things the way they are. You should know that about me."

Elphaba pursed her lips, still not convinced.

"There are several levitation spells in that book, but they only tend to work on objects, not people. And the carpet bag is a very simple spell, if you like. I needed a way to carry all my things without carting a wagon behind me, so I found an appropriate spell. Apparently, people have needed secret places to store their things since the invention of magic. You'll find all the spells, even my spell-word, if you look," Mary stated, as if to demonstrate her sincerity.

Elphaba clutched the book and turned on her heel, still too angry to concede the argument. Mary was insufferable, with her unflappable personality. So Elphaba stormed back down the stairs and across the fields toward her own home. She wanted to be in her own space, with her own books. She wanted to study the Grimmerie and know that Mary was a safe distance away. With that one goal in mind, she stormed into her house. She bypassed the younger children, who were playing with some kittens in the yard. She passed the older girls, who were in the kitchen helping Trudy prepare lunch. She cut a path straight to her room, and slammed the door. Trudy and the others, who were used to Elphaba's somewhat antisocial moments, just shook their heads and paid her no mind.

Elphaba took the Grimmerie to the sitting area just off of the master bedroom, on the first floor of the house. Curling up in her favorite chair, she took a few calming breaths and looked at the book. It was just as she remembered, with the heavy latch and pin holding it closed, and the colorful, jeweled spine. Opening it, she studied the strange, purplish parchment and watched as the writing shimmered in and out of existence. Then, for the next few hours, she lost herself in it. She tried a few spells that should have generated wind and rain, and was only successful at disheveling herself. However, she managed to light the lamps without a match and keep them burning for some time, even though it was daylight. She produced a small flame, and kept it between her palms for a few minutes before burning herself. She even tried the levitation spells, and managed to lift a few small objects.

It was progress, and it was more than she'd been able to do since she'd left Oz more than a year ago. It proved she was capable of magic in both worlds. Still, it wasn't enough. Elphaba still needed the spells. Without them, she could do almost nothing, and that limited her. It meant she had to carry the book and rely upon her ability to find the right spell at the right time. It was cumbersome and tedious, and Elphaba needed more power than it allowed her. She wanted more freedom.

After a time, when her eyes began to cross and she felt a headache coming on, she heaved a sigh. Flipping the pages of the Grimmerie once more, Elphaba realized she could still see the letters on the edges of the pages. Like Mary had said, they disappeared if she tried to stop and fix on them for too long. So Elphaba looked at them haphazardly, wondering. She wondered what they might really mean, if Mary had lied to her about the spell. And then, if Mary had been telling the truth, she wondered why it didn't work for her. Surely Mary wasn't the only one in the whole universe for whom the spell was intended. Certainly, she wasn't that special.

_Or perfect, as she would say_, Elphaba thought bitterly.

Just then, as she dropped her face in her hands in fatigue, Fiyero came through the door. Crossing to where she sat, he rubbed her shoulders with his strong, work-worn hands, and said, "Trudy says you've been in here all day…"

"I have," Elphaba sighed.

"What has you so occupied?" he asked.

Elphaba carefully closed the Grimmerie and placed her hands on the cover, "Do you know what this is?"

Fiyero shook his head.

"This is the Grimmerie. The ancient book. The book no one believed existed…"

Fiyero cocked his head, "I don't know that I've heard of it."

"Most people haven't. Mostly just sorcery students and…witches," Elphaba admitted.

"And it was here? In Kansas?" Fiyero asked.

"No. It was in Mary's bag," Elphaba snapped, "all this time. She was walking around with the most powerful spell book in two worlds…"

"Maybe that explains a lot?" Fiyero suggested.

"Maybe…" Elphaba said, "but I don't think it's just the book. She has something more…and she won't tell me. She's lying to me…I know. There's just something about her that's…off."

Fiyero smiled and kept rubbing Elphaba's back, "Don't let the conspirator in you come out so quickly. She's most likely just a bit snobbish."

"No. She knows how she came upon her powers. And she made up a ridiculous story, knowing that I would try it. I think she intended to make me look foolish."

"But why?"

"What do you mean?"

Fiyero answered, "Always look at the motive. Why would she want you to look foolish? What's to be gained?"

Elphaba was suddenly stumped, "I…I don't know. She gets to hoard all the power, I guess…"

There was a moment of silence, and then Fiyero asked, "How did she lie to you?"

Elphaba rubbed her eyes and set the Grimmerie on the table beside her, "She told me…about a spell-word, from this book. The most ridiculous word you've ever heard. She showed it to me. But when I tried it…nothing happened."

Fiyero looked thoughtful again, "That sounds like it might have more to do with you, than with her."

"What?" Elphaba snapped harshly.

"Easy, Fae. I just mean…maybe it did work…for her. Maybe you haven't thought of all the details."

"Such as?" she was still annoyed.

"You know I don't know anything about magick, Fae. But…maybe there's more to it. Maybe it's in the way she said the spell, or where she was when she said it. Maybe it only works in Oz? Like the water only affects you there…" Fiyero suggested.

Elphaba stopped then, and thought it over. Feeling a sudden rush of possibility, she realized he might have a point. Mary would have had to have been in Oz when she first found the Grimmerie. She'd said she didn't take it until years after discovering her magic and casting the spell on herself. Perhaps it was a matter of location.

Her excitement restored, Elphaba jumped up and threw out, "I'll be back for dinner…I think."

Then, she was gone again, streaking through the house as a perplexing, unstoppable whirl of black and green.

* * *

Two days later, Elphaba had still not managed to make the spell work. She was cross, disappointed, and refusing to speak to Mary. She continued to visit the big house out of obligation, making sure Mae was getting along all right with the guests. She would only give Mary withering, angry glances, though.

Mary, however, went about her business unaffected. True to her word to stay until the wind changed, she helped Dorothy with her schoolwork and helped Mae around the house. In spite of having been brought to the house as Elphaba's guest, she seemed to find her own purpose in being where she was. She was needed, and would fulfill this commission until she was called elsewhere. Elphaba's plans seemed irrelevant, or secondary, to her.

Bert, however, was just glad to have a roof over his head. He worked hard and learned quickly, taking to the farm as quickly as he'd taken to cleaning chimneys and shining shoes. Mae and Wilbur appreciated him. He also seemed content just to be in the same place as Mary, for the moment.

Elphaba let them be, for the time being, because she was angry at Mary and she'd not yet decided how to proceed in Oz. She needed to get a grip on her magick before she tried anything with regards to the Animals. She didn't want the same kind of disaster that had occurred the last time she'd tried to do a little good. But she simply couldn't unravel Mary's spell, and she was starting to wonder if this was all just another futile endeavor. She was starting to wonder if she should give up, and live out her life watching the barley grow. She wondered if perhaps she wasn't meant to make any sort of difference with her life.

She said as much to Tessy as they sat on Mae's porch one evening, just a few days before Christmas.

"I think I'm starting to feel a touch of the madness…from Kiamo Ko. I remember this feeling…this wanting desperately to do something, to change things for the better. And I remember every effort failing, and usually resulting in some poor creature's death…" Elphaba recounted grimly.

Tessy looked at her somberly, "I thought you said you'd never go there again? That you would never let yourself get that crazy."

Elphaba sighed, "I know…and I meant it, but…this spell is almost as maddening as trying to get back Nessa's shoes, or make Monkeys fly. But this is more important, because this actually has definite meaning. I would be taken seriously, as a sorceress, with the kind of power Mary has."

Tessy chewed her lip, troubled, "I hate to say this to you, but there's always the chance that you're right…that the spell was only for her."

Elphaba grumbled, and then said, "Maybe. But if so, then why can I see it? I can see the letters…"

Tessy shrugged, "I don't know. I don't pretend to know anything about magic, or Oz…"

Elphaba rubbed her eyes, "I know…and I'm sure you're tired of hearing me ramble on about this."

Tessy gave her a weak smile, "Maybe a little."

"I should ask how you're doing," Elphaba conceded.

Tessy grinned, "I'm fine. I appreciate you asking, but you don't have to worry about me. Mary says I should be past the sickness soon…"

"Mary?" Elphaba snapped.

It was Tessy's turn to sigh, "She's not so bad, Elphie. And I just don't get the impression that…"

"That what?" Elphaba snapped.

"That she would intentionally lie to you, just to be hateful or manipulative. She seems to be pretty straightforward. She gives honest answers, some times to a fault," Tessy explained.

"To you, maybe," Elphaba spat.

"To Mae, as well. She told her she refuses to touch dirty dishes, because she might 'roughen her hands'," Tessy said.

Elphaba snorted, "That sounds entirely typical."

"She is a bit...vain," Tessy smiled, "But it's an odd sort of vanity, because she doesn't compare herself to others. She doesn't seem to be putting down the rest of us...it's as though...she's trying to pull everyone else up to her level of perfection. Or our own version of perfect..." she mused.

Elphaba still looked annoyed, "I, for one, have no desire to be perfect."

"That's not entirely true," Tessy argued, "everyone wants to be their best, on some level. You just don't want to be like her."

"Maybe," Elphaba looked away, "but I believe my version of perfect would include the magickal ability she's keeping from me. So she's failing in making me perfect, if that's her aim."

Tessy sighed, "I don't think she's keeping it from you...I just think you need to keep looking at it. Keep looking at the book, or the spell, or whatever thing she's shown you. There must be more to it..."

Elphaba barely nodded, still caught up in her frustration.

* * *

Later that night, when the moon was just starting to rise, Elphaba lay in Fiyero's arms, thinking. His breathing was even, calming, beside her. She thought about the Grimmerie, about the secrets it held. She wondered about its origins. She thought about how the spells seem to morph and change of their own accord. She thought about what forces might influence them, if it was the reader or the author's whim that made the spells appear. Suddenly, something occurred to her. Out of the chaos of her thoughts, an idea formed. Perhaps the spells didn't just disappear, perhaps they changed. Maybe the spells with different every time the book was opened. And if the pages tended to change, to bend to someone's will, then perhaps the letters Mary had found on the edges changed as well.

Leaping from the bed, Elphaba crossed to the sitting area and pulled the Grimmerie into her lap. Using the illumination spell to light her lamp, she fanned the pages of the book. As the pages flipped through her fingers, Elphaba could see the scripted letters forming on the edges of the pages. Flipping a little more slowly, she managed to catch the first few letters. Her breath caught, and she froze.

_E…l…e…k…a_

These letters were certainly not the same letters that had appeared to Mary. Elphaba's heart beat faster as she thought about it. Although she had been able to see the letters when Mary had flipped the pages, the book had been in Mary's hands. Now, it rested in her own lap, under Elphaba's influence. Suddenly, it made sense. Mary's spell _was_ just for Mary. And this one was just for her.

Flipping the pages as slow as she could without losing the letters, Elphaba tried to read the entire spell. As Mary had said, however, it was extremely difficult to move slow enough to read them without them vanishing. Gritting her teeth in determination, Elphaba found a piece of paper and a decent pen. She had an advantage over Mary, because she knew what she was doing. She knew what to look for and how to put the letters in order. Now, it was just a matter of patience.

It took her until nearly dawn to get it all down. By then, Elphaba was weary and nearly cross-eyed from flipping the Grimmerie's heavy pages. Still, she had a wrinkled sheet of paper with a lengthy spell written on it. She studied it, trying to determine how it might be different from the other spells she'd cast. It seemed similar in form and style. The syllables were somewhat familiar, as though she were starting to recognize spell-words the way one might start to recognize a new language. Then, Elphaba wondered if that might, in fact, be what it was. Perhaps each person who had the privilege of reading from the Grimmerie had their own spell language. It was both fascinating and overwhelming to think that it might be true.

Staring at her spell, Elphaba broke it into individual words. Most other spells seemed to be written that way. She then wondered if, perhaps, Mary's spell-word wasn't actually one word at all. Mary, in her ignorance when it came to the logistics of magick, might've just run all the words together, when she wrote them down. It wouldn't have mattered, Elphaba realized, because it would have had the same affect when said aloud. Now, Elphaba read her own spell, saying the words to herself.

_Eleka __Ad Nay Prae Tum Ister Fah Tum Antay Dayculum_

She felt a stirring within herself, and she nearly shook with anticipation. Closing the Grimmerie, she folded the paper on which she'd been writing. Crossing to the wardrobe, she shed her nightclothes and pulled on a winter dress. Then, she pulled on her boots and tied her hair back tightly behind her head. Without another moment's consideration, she closed her eyes and leapt herself into Oz.

Finding herself in the Gillikin forest, close to where Mary usually visited, she looked around for any sign of people, or Animals. Hearing nothing but the twittering of far off birds, she drew a deep breath. It was crisp and cool, as spring was much slower in coming in northern Oz. Elphaba barely noticed her shivering, however, as she pulled the folded piece of paper from her pocket. Opening it in her hands, she read over the spell several times. Confident she'd memorized it, she closed her eyes and slowly chanted the words.

"Eleka…Ad…Nay…Prae…Tum…Ister…Fah…Tum…Antay…Dayculum…"

Elphaba felt a sudden rush of warmth over her, like a mighty, rolling wave. She went with it, though, breathing deeply until the feeling subsided. Then, she was left with only a slight tingling, and a heightened awareness, much like when one has a surge of adrenaline. Looking around, she wasn't quite sure what to do with herself. However, not one to be timid, Elphaba spread her arms and wished for flight. Focusing on the sky, and the feel of the wind in her face, she found that she lifted easily off the ground. With a giddy cackle, she decided there was now only one thing missing.

Leaping herself back to the other world, where Fiyero was still sleeping in the early light of dawn, Elphaba found the broom she'd bought herself so many months ago. It wasn't her broom. It wasn't the one Liir had taken, but now, it didn't matter. It was the feel of it, the symbol of it that mattered. And she'd been keeping it behind the wardrobe for just this moment. Leaping back into Oz, Elphaba then mounted the broom, and flew.

She soared up into the sky faster than she'd dared to, before. Now, the power was within her. The forces keeping her aloft came from within. She was no longer relying on the whim of the broom to keep her in flight and change her course. It was simply a prop that pointed her direction as she cut a path through the black sky. In Oz, it was still night, and the stars were still blazing as Elphaba soared through the heavens. She pushed herself as high as she dared, until she gasped for breath and was forced to descend. She pushed herself faster, until the wind whipped her hair from its pins. Letting it fly loose behind her, she was a blaze of black and green against the star-speckled sky.

For hours, Elphaba flew. She flew until the sun was making its way up the horizon and she was afraid of being seen. She wasn't ready for her presence to be known, yet, so she was forced out of the sky by the sheer power of daylight. Landing close to where she'd started, Elphaba realized how very tired she was. Her breath came in gasps and her body felt terribly warm. It seemed illogical, since she'd been flying through the brisk, morning air. Still, her heartbeat was rapid, and her whole body radiated heat from within. Not entirely sure what to make of it, and too excited to really care, Elphaba leapt herself back to Kansas.


	10. Chapter 10

**'Just a spoonful of sugar...' ****Sorry...I had to. :-)**

**So...I'm feeling kind of needy, and my external locus of self-esteem wants you to review. I think you're out there, because this story gets hits, but I haven't heard from you. Or most of you. That's all. No more pressure. :-)**

**Enjoy.**

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* * *

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**Chapter 10**

By nearly lunch time, when Fiyero still could not find Elphaba, he was starting to worry. He'd woken to find her missing, and assumed she'd gotten up early and gone for a walk. She tended to do that, since her sleep habits had never been exactly normal. However, when she hadn't returned for breakfast, he'd started to be concerned. Now, hours had passed with no sign of her. She'd left no note, no word, and he had no idea where she might've disappeared to. So Fiyero struggled with what to do. There was a time when this would've been very typical of Elphaba. However, it had been so long since she'd been quite this obsessed, this focused on something, that it now seemed a touch out of character. On all her recent trips into Oz, she had made sure he knew where she was going. She'd at least said goodbye.

Still, Fiyero went about his morning chores, trying keep his mind from worrying. He chopped firewood for a bit with Wilbur, but he could tell was distracted. So after checking with Trudy for about the tenth time, he decided to head across to the big house and see if she might've shown up there. If Elphaba was onto some sort of discovery, it would be like her to start talking to Mae or Tessy and forget that she'd left him alone that morning.

Walking through the farmyard at Mae's house, he noted that his younger children were all there, playing with sticks and a ball of twine. The older girls were trying to keep the little ones out of the mud, with little success. Smiling at them, Fiyero climbed the steps and entered the kitchen. Mae was at the kitchen counter prepping vegetables for a stew.

Seeing him, she said, "Everything all right? I thought you'd be out getting firewood with the others…"

Fiyero sighed, "I was, and I would be, but…I can't seem to find my wife."

Mae gave him a smile, "You mean your sorceress-turned-veterinarian who leaps between worlds and tends to come as go as she very well pleases?"

Fiyero smiled in spite of himself, "Yes…the green one."

Mae wiped her hands on a towel and said, "You know she'll be back. And you know you probably aren't going to figure out where she went."

Fiyero ran a hand through his wiry hair, "I know…she just…usually doesn't vanish for this long without telling _someone_ where she's gone…"

Mae gave him an understanding look, "That's true…and maybe she did tell someone. Maybe Mary? Isn't she supposed to be part of this new plan Elphaba has?"

Fiyero chuckled, "I think that might be true…in theory. If they could get along."

Mae laughed, "Well, keep looking. If she's not back by sundown, we'll worry."

Fiyero nodded, and then began to make his way somewhat haphazardly through the big, farm house. He looked in the parlor and the sitting room, wondering if Elphaba might've wanted a solitary place to read. He checked the rarely-used formal dining room. Then, he glanced into the study. Mary and Dorothy were inside, working through some arithmetic.

"Can I play with the others after this is done, Mary Poppins? Please?" Dorothy was asking.

"Yes, but you best focus on your work right now or you'll be all day finishing it," Mary chirped.

Fiyero watched their interaction, and considered Mary. He hadn't paid her much attention, since she'd arrived. He knew that Elphaba had brought her, thinking she was important to her work in Oz. He knew that Emily had asked her to help Dorothy with her studies, while she was staying with them. Still, he hadn't really talked to her, since she didn't seem one to bother with idle chit chat. Now, he wondered what exactly had made Mary agree to help Elphaba, or if she'd even agreed at all. He wondered what the two of them could possibly have in common.

_I suppose, being children of both worlds…_ he told himself, _but, if that means they're related, I don't see it…_

Fiyero could see the resemblance between Elphaba and Mae. In spite of the green, they favored each other. They could both quirk up an eyebrow in the same expression. Mae's silver-streaked hair had clearly once been very dark, and full of heavy curls. Their eyes were the same, if you looked closely. Even Dorothy had a family resemblance. The strong jaw, the piercing eyes, they were enough to point to a shared bloodline. But Mary, Fiyero noticed, was entirely different. She had a soft, delicate prettiness that was far from ordinary, but not quite unique enough to call her gorgeous. She wasn't bubbly, made over, and pouty-lipped like many of the girls he remembered from the Emerald City. She looked both very young, and very wise, at the same time. She was graceful and feminine, but she wasn't a slight person, either. She fit her clothes well, and she was as tall as Elphaba. She was polished, coiffed, and perfectly put together. And, as much as he hated to admit it, Fiyero decided that _perfect_ might be the word for her. If he had to pick an example of a perfect lady, solely on looks and manners, Mary was it. He would never admit it to Elphaba, though, because he loved her and all the chaos she caused.

Now, he cleared his throat and addressed Mary, "I was wondering, have you seen Fae? Elphaba?"

Mary cocked her head, "No. Not as of late."

"She's taken off, no doubt on one of her crazy…"

Fiyero was cut off by Mae calling from the kitchen, "Fiyero! I've found her!"

With a smile of relief, Fiyero gave Mary a nod. She turned back to Dorothy, who'd just finished her arithmetic.

Fiyero headed back into the kitchen. Crossing through the living room, he found Elphaba leaning on a kitchen chair, talking excitedly to Mae.

She clutched her broom in her right hand as she said, "I've really done it! It really does work, and I truly can fly! You have no idea what this means! There's most likely no end to the things I can do, now…"

Mae gave her a knowing smile, and then Elphaba saw Fiyero.

"Yero! It works. My spell works!"

He crossed to her, and noticed she was trembling. He started to suggest that she should sit down and tell them the whole story, when Mary and Dorothy came into the room. Dorothy had finished her work and bounded out the door to play with the other children. As Mary crossed the room, Elphaba went to her. Her earlier animosity was clearly overshadowed by the experience of flight. She handed the broom to Mae as she went.

"Your spell-word," she said to Mary, "it is just for you! It's…a spell _language_, I think. There are so many possibilities in it! It's so much more complicated than I…"

Mary looked genuinely interested, as she came closer to Elphaba.

Elphaba stepped within a few feet of Mary, in front of the sofa, and suddenly struggled, "I…think…I think that…"

Suddenly, the trembling increased. Elphaba paled slightly, and she put her hands on her face as she tried to speak. Then, she dropped in a dead faint. Seeing that she was the only thing between Elphaba and the very hard floor, Mary reached out and caught her. Then, she held her limp form with a look of surprise while Fiyero and Mae rushed over. Fiyero carefully lifted Elphaba from Mary's arms, noting Mary looked genuinely concerned.

As he laid her on the sofa, Mae asked, "Is it another one?" referring to Elphaba's paroxysm.

Fiyero sighed, "Most likely. I'm going to assume that flying around Oz for hours is not a low-stress activity?"

"I would say not," Mary interjected softly.

"She'll be all right," Mae said knowingly, "we'll just give her time…"

"I know," Fiyero sighed, "I just hate when she pushes this hard."

Mary took a step back and let Mae cover Elphaba's trembling form with a blanket. Then, she asked, "What troubles her?"

"This happens to her, when she works too hard and doesn't sleep. Or if she lets herself get emotionally overwhelmed. She had a head injury a long time ago…" Fiyero tried to explain, "but I wouldn't press the issue with her, when she wakes. She hates having this weakness. And her story…is hard for her to tell…"

Mary's expression was strange for a moment, and then she reset her features into calm confidence. In her eyes, there was a touch of compassion. Leaving the room for a few moments, she scurried up the stairs, and then returned with what looked like a bottle of medication. She crossed back to the sofa where Elphaba lay.

Looking at the deep green, apothecary bottle in Mary's hands, Mae said, "I don't think medicine will help. She's not ill…it's something in her head."

Mary gave a little smile, and said, "This is not just any medication, though. In my experience, it has quite a calming effect."

"I suppose it won't hurt," Mae conceded.

"What's in it?" Fiyero demanded.

Mary turned to him, "That's for me to know. But rest assured, it's safe, even for children."

When there were no other arguments, Mary produced a spoon and poured a small amount of the thick liquid into it. It was clear, without smell or color. Fiyero helped Elphaba sit up, and got her to focus as best she could on him for a moment. When the trembling had subsided just a little, he took the spoon from Mary and helped Elphaba drink. Then, he lay her back down.

To Mae and Fiyero's surprise, after just a few quiet minutes, the trembling eased up. Elphaba, clearly relieved, gave Fiyero a groggy, incoherent smile before falling into the deep sleep that usually followed one of her fits. This time, however, she looked much more at ease than was typical in this situation. Satisfied, Mary put the cork back in her bottle of elixir and started to walk away. She did not appear to expect thanks, or even recognition. It was simply a job completed.

Fiyero stood and stopped her, though, and asked again, "What exactly is that?"

Mary held up the bottle, which read simply _Miracle Elixir._

Looking at it, Fiyero felt a twinge of familiarity, as though he should recognize the tonic. He couldn't place it, however. So he asked, "Is it from Oz?"

"Yes," Mary said curtly.

"And you don't know what's in it?" he asked again.

Mary gave him a knowing look, "No, I said what's in it is for me to know," she started back up the stairs, and then threw back, "And perhaps for Miss Elphaba to know, when she wakes."

For the briefest moment, Fiyero finally saw a fleeting similarity between Mary and Elphaba. Then, it vanished as Mary put her chin in the air and ascended the stairs.

* * *

Later that evening, Bert drug himself in from his work. He'd been helping Wilbur and the others prepare the fields for winter, so they would be fertile come spring. Having been born and raised in the city, he'd never considered how much work it took just to wrestle food from the ground. He had no idea it was necessary to start in the cold of winter, in order to have a good harvest. Still, it was work, and Bert enjoyed being kept busy. He liked working with his hands and seeing a job completed. It was enough, for him.

As he made his way back to the farmhouse, he understood that there was something distinctly different about this job, however. At the end of every day, Mary was there. Unlike in London, where he never knew if he might catch her in the park, or see her up on the roofs in the winter, he now knew where she was. He knew that when the work was done each day, she would be in the kitchen helping Mae, or making Dorothy wash up for dinner. It made his heart lighter and his step quicker as he came in after a long day.

That evening, however, the scene in the big farmhouse was more chaotic than usual. Mae was preparing dinner, with the help of Tessy, as usual, but the room was full of children. The older ones were at the table, drawing with pencils, while the younger ones were playing with several dolls and some wooden blocks. The children were a palette for all the colors of skin, from very dark, like Fiyero, to very pale. Bert assumed this must be Fiyero's adopted family that he'd yet to officially meet. Dorothy was also among them, trying to show the youngest little girl how to properly swaddle a baby doll. Glancing around, Bert found what might be the reason for the chaos.

Elphaba was sitting on the sofa, looking quite pale. She was wrapped in a quilt, with a cup of tea in her hands. Fiyero sat next to her, looking concerned. Mary tended them, bringing Elphaba more tea without a word. Elphaba looked too tired to either protest or offer thanks. Fiyero looked around then, realizing his children were causing chaos amidst the dinner preparations.

"I suppose I need to see them home. They've enjoyed this extra playtime, but Trudy will be wondering where they are," Fiyero stated.

Mary set the teapot on the stove and addressed him from across the room, saying, "No need. I'll take them. It's just a bit of walk to your house, and it's not yet too cold."

Fiyero gave her a grateful smile, "Thank you…Trudy will be expecting them for dinner. And I'm sorry that they're a bit worked up…"

"Not to worry," Mary chimed.

She opened one of the kitchen cabinets and produced the same bottle of elixir from earlier in the day. Taking it and crossing to the center of the living room, she snapped her fingers. Surprisingly, the children all turned to look at Mary. Using the same spell she'd shown Elphaba a few nights previous, she waved her hand in the air and produced a shower of glowing sparks. The bits of light covered the children momentarily before disappearing, transfixing them. Then, snapped her fingers again.

"Up from the floor, all of you," Mary ordered cheerily, "it's time to go home and we've no time to waste. Dinner is waiting."

There was some groaning, and clearly some of the little ones had lost their patience with the toys. Anticipating their general fussiness, Mary added, "And you'll all have a spoonful of this before you go."

"But we're not sick!" little Molly argued, pouting.

"Aye, but you do like sweet dreams, don't you?" Mary asked.

Molly nodded.

"Then you'll take your medicine and go to dinner without a fuss."

The children gathered around her then, curious if nothing else. One by one, Mary gave them each a spoonful of the elixir. Bert watched knowingly, having seen this done many times. Hesitant, at first, the children began to express their pleasure and wonderment over the unusual tonic.

"It tastes like fresh strawberries!" Elizabeth, who was eight, exclaimed.

"No…it's peach ice cream," her older sister, Edy, argued.

At little Molly's turn, she said, "Sugar apples…"

One by one, they each took their turn. They enjoyed the magic of the flavors, but Bert also noticed that it seemed to calm them. The frowning and whining ceased, and they all gathered their toys and followed Mary out the door. The other adults watched, amazed. Bert, shaking his head and smiling, went to wash his hands in the washbasin. As he finished, Fiyero came to fetch the sugar for Elphaba's tea.

Before he walked away, he asked, "Is this something you've seen Mary do before?"

"What? The magic?" Bert asked, "All the time."

"No," Fiyero corrected, "The elixir."

Drying his hands, Bert understood Fiyero's uncertainty, "Yes. And it seems safe. But I can't tell you what's in it. She won't even tell me."

Fiyero smiled his appreciation, "Well, it certainly seemed to help Fae…"

Bert glanced over at Elphaba and asked, "Is she all right? Did something 'appen?"

Fiyero sighed, "Yes and no. I believe she's found her wings, so to speak. She worked out the spell that was troubling her, and she flew. And it was a bit much…for her. She has fits, sometimes…like a seizure. It's a long story…"

"I understand," Bert was compassionate, "And I'm glad Mary's tonic did some good. I've never really known exactly what it can do…"

"Well, once Fae gets back on her feet, she'll drag it out of Mary, if she can," Fiyero chuckled.

"Good luck to Elphaba," Bert smiled in return.

The two of them looked at each other for a moment, as though they'd just found a bit of common ground. Then, Fiyero took Elphaba the sugar. Bert offered to help Tessy set the table, and insisted that she sit down and rest. As he pulled out her chair and offered to bring her some milk, Mary came back into the kitchen.

Observing him, she threw out, "You've always been quite the gentleman, Bert. It's one of the things I admire most about you."

Bert looked up, his eyes locked on Mary with obvious adoration, as he said, "Why thank you, Mary."

It was clear to everyone in the room, in that moment, that he was absolutely smitten with her. Up to this point, some of them might've guessed it, or wondered how he felt. Some, like Fiyero, might've been clueless. They might've wondered why he would travel from London just to find Mary. His face gave him away in that moment, however. His incredibly transparent feelings were obvious to everyone. Still, no one said anything.

Crossing to the couch with her bottle of elixir and a spoon, Mary sat next to Elphaba and ordered cheerily, "Open. You need another dose, I think."

Elphaba looked at her sharply, alarmed.

"It's okay," Fiyero soothed, "this is what brought you out of the paroxysm earlier."

Looking incredulous, Elphaba stared at Mary as she poured another spoonful of the tonic and held it in front of her. The green woman, still apprehensive, said, "How do I know you're not trying to kill me?"

Mary laughed a musical little laugh, "If I wanted to kill you, perhaps I'd set you on fire. There are much simpler ways, for that. And you've just seen me give this tonic to the children."

Too tired to argue further, Elphaba took the spoon and downed the clear liquid. After swallowing, she said, "It takes like whiskey, with honey…and wild blackberries…"

Mary cocked her head, "Interesting…"

"Meaning?" Elphaba couldn't let it go.

Corking the bottle, Mary said, "Well, it's different for everyone. For the children, it's mostly sweet, but for adults…you never know what it will taste like."

"Can I see it?" Elphaba held out her hand for the bottle.

Looking quite uncertain, Mary considered for a moment before letting Elphaba hold the bottle.

Elphaba turned it over in her hands, surprised at the weight of it. Bert watched her reaction as she turned it around and read the label. Then, Elphaba's face went pale. She didn't say anything for a long time.

When she finally spoke, she whispered, "I just don't understand…how?"

"How what?" Mary asked.

"How did you ever find this?"

Mary looked a little surprised, "It's quite common, in the parts of Oz I visit. There's a small town, just outside the forest, and the apothecaries sell it. One of them taught me how to mix it, but I did add my own touch of magic to it."

Elphaba stared at the bottle for another long minute, "I just never imagined…I always thought it was so rare…"

"You've seen this?" Mary asked.

Elphaba nodded, and then rubbed at her temples. Seeing her getting worked up again, Fiyero stepped in. Bert watched as he put an arm around Elphaba and said, "Fae…you should eat. You need dinner and rest. I think you've had enough discoveries for today."

Elphaba looked at him and frowned. Bert could see that she wanted to question Mary further. But he could also see how Fiyero influenced her. He could see that Elphaba, for all her fiery strength, melted in his presence. She loved him, thoroughly, and she trusted him. Their connection was almost palpable, and Bert was momentarily jealous. For one of the few times in his life, he wished he'd made more of his life, so that he might have a chance at that type of real, lasting relationship. If he was better educated, or better looking, or more consistently employed, perhaps Mary would consider him. He shook it off, though, knowing that following that line of thinking would only make him melancholy.

Conceding to Fiyero, Elphaba was silent. Mary put away the elixir, and they all went to the table when Mae proclaimed that dinner was ready.

* * *

Later that night, when the dishes were cleared and nearly everyone was heading to bed, Bert took a cup of coffee to the kitchen table. Spooning sugar into the hot liquid, he glanced at Elphaba, who had returned to the sofa. Fiyero had gone to check on the children, promising to be back to get Elphaba shortly. She was now staring at the fire, lost in her own thoughts. After another moment, Mary returned from making sure Dorothy was in bed. Dorothy enjoyed the thick, heavy books Mary read to her, which was something Emily and Henry couldn't do.

Now, Bert watched as Mary went quietly to the sitting area and sat in the chair across from Elphaba. She didn't say anything for quite some time. For one of the rare times in their relationship, Bert saw Mary struggle. He saw her try to find words, and hesitate a little with what she wanted to say. It reminded him of all the times they'd had to say goodbye over the years, and it saddened him a little.

Glancing at Mary, Elphaba said, "Yes?"

Mary took a breath, "So you've figured out the spell, have you?"

Elphaba, silently calling a truce between them, answered, "Yes…and more than just one spell, I think. I believe we both have a language…for spells."

"So, you've decided I'm not a liar?" Mary asked sharply.

Elphaba bit her lip, "I suppose. Although I still think you often know more than you're telling anyone."

"Not everyone needs to know everything, Miss Elphaba. It takes the magic out of life."

Elphaba snorted, "I prefer things to be transparent, I suppose. I always want to…know. And there's been very few secrets in my life that haven't ended...badly."

Mary looked at her hands, "I can understand that, perhaps."

"My spell isn't the same as yours," Elphaba went on, "it's entirely different."

"That makes a great deal of sense," Mary offered.

"So," Elphaba started, "we're equals, now. As far as the book is concerned, anyway. It chose both of us. So I'll ask again…will you help me?"

"I don't know that you really need me, Miss Elphaba."

Elphaba met her eyes, "I still think there are things you can teach me."

Mary looked at her for a long time, as though weighing her next move carefully. Finally, she crossed to the kitchen and retrieved her bottle of elixir once again. Coming back to the sofa, she sat down with it in her lap. Then, she began to talk.

"This really is very common, at least in the small part of Oz I've seen. It's sometimes called other things, but the recipe is the same. Most apothecaries can make it. It's essentially Ozian poppy seeds, crushed, with a few other roots and some simple syrup. It's used for pain, or madness, or general irritability. It calms a person, or produces euphoria. The reaction is very individual. My touch of magic, however, gives it the flavors. I intended just to make it more palatable, but somehow, I personalized it. The spell makes it cater to each person, if you will. I never know just what it will taste like, exactly…"

Mary stopped then, as though just explaining that much bothered her.

Elphaba looked at her, feeling a little more of the hostility slipping away, and said, "Have you ever asked yourself…what is it about the person that determines the flavor?"

Mary cocked her head, "I've always thought it was based on your preference."

Elphaba thought for a moment, and then asked, "What does it taste like, to you?"

"It used to taste like candied cherries…extra sweet. But now, it's always rum punch," Mary said quietly.

Ever the analyst, Elphaba thought about it. Then, having a sudden realization, she looked to Bert, "Come here," she called, "and bring a spoon."

Without asking, Elphaba took the bottle from Mary. When Bert joined them in the sitting area, she poured a bit into his spoon and ordered, "Taste this."

Bert complied, having tried it before. Elphaba and Mary looked at him expectantly, and he said, "It's ginger tea, but a bit weak for my liking."

Elphaba sat back and looked thoughtful. Mary capped the bottle and returned it the kitchen, and Bert looked uncertain.

Eventually, Elphaba said, "Perhaps the spell isn't just picking up on our preferences. Maybe…it's more personal than that. Maybe, it's like your tape measure, Mary. Was it the same spell?"

"Similar, yes," Mary whispered.

Elphaba smiled, "After all, Bert, you do tend to be a bit timid…and ginger tends to waffle between strength and sweetness…it's not sure what it wants to be…"

He looked a little wounded, but couldn't argue.

"And whiskey is strong, bitter, and hard to take," Mary offered to Elphaba, somewhat in Bert's defense, "not many people can stomach it."

Elphaba met Mary's eyes, "Rum punch is sweet and light, at first..."

"Blackberries and honey are sweet, but wild and hard to get at…" Mary countered.

"Rum is strong, and cuts the sweet with bitterness," Elphaba threw back.

They were all quiet for a moment then, considering the implications.

Eventually, Bert got up to wash the spoon and clean his coffee cup. Mary cleared the tea cup from in front of Elphaba. She crossed to the kitchen, where Bert took it from her to wash it. When he reached for the cup, he bumped her arm, and she flinched. Stepping into the shadows of the darkened kitchen, Mary fiddled with the sleeve of her shirtwaist for a moment.

As he was about to cross back to the sofa, Mary's hesitation caught Bert's attention. Glancing over at just the right moment, he could see that she had pulled her sleeve up to reveal her right forearm. It was discolored with several dark, ugly bruises.

Unable to temper his reaction, Bert said, "What on earth, Mary?"

Whipping around, she stepped just far enough into the light so that Elphaba could see her arm as well. Embarrassed, Mary quickly buttoned her cuff and crossed the room stoically. Without another word, she headed for the stairs, as though to go to bed, but Elphaba stopped her.

"Wait," she said carefully.

Mary stopped with her back to Elphaba.

"I did that to you, didn't I?" Elphaba asked.

"It's no matter, Miss Elphaba. It was unintentional."

"Still, I didn't think I grabbed you that tightly…"

Mary sighed and turned for a moment, her hand on the banister. After a long, quiet moment, she spoke, and there was something very different in her voice, "People were not meant to be born of two worlds, Miss Elphaba. You and young Dorothy think it such a fanciful thing to be, but we are not normal. You are green. And I…I am more fragile than I'd like to admit. And I'd appreciate you keeping this to yourself."

Elphaba, caught off guard by the sincere honesty and the sadness in the statement, just nodded. Then, Mary hurried up the stairs without looking back.

After a long time, Elphaba mused aloud, "Considering my mother…and the Wizard…I always thought it was the elixir that made me…but maybe it's just the result of being what we are…"

Bert wasn't exactly sure what she meant, and he didn't have time to ask. Fiyero returned then to take Elphaba home. Refusing to let her walk such a long way, he lifted her into his arms and carried her out the door. It was sweet and, once again, he felt a twinge of jealousy. Bert watched them go, and then looked up the stairs, where Mary had disappeared.

He, more than Elphaba, was struck by what Mary had said. Whereas Elphaba might've learned something about herself, Bert had learned something about Mary. Never before had he heard her be so brutally, openly honest. No one else had ever been able to get her to speak so personally, or to admit weakness. Bert was glad to see her humanity, because he'd always longed to really know her. However, he was troubled as well. He began to wonder what Elphaba had planned for them. He wondered if he really wanted to see Mary without the veil of sugar and light. He wondered what waited for them, in Oz, and how it might change them. There was excitement and uncertainty, anticipation and fear, as he climbed the steps to bed.


	11. Chapter 11

**And here's more. Just a reminder...I'm not following the plotline of what happened in Oz during Son of a Witch. Definitely going my own way. :-)**

**Also, interesting note...one of the first lines in the move Mary Poppins, when the children see her flying in, is: Michael - "Do you suppose it's a witch?"; Jane - "No...witches have brooms."**

**Last note...I've also pulled something else from the movie, as I try to make all things silly into serious. During Jolly Holiday, Bert sings to Mary and makes a list of at least twenty girls and their good qualities. He ends with..."but the tip of the top, is Mary Poppins, and there we stop." Just something to think about. **

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* * *

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**Chapter 11**

Over the next few days, at Fiyero's insistence, Elphaba was forced to take things much slower. As she explained, somewhat begrudgingly, to Bert and Mary, Fiyero wanted her to be at her best before she started a campaign in Oz. He was understandably afraid that, if she wasn't well, she might push herself to the point of sickness, or madness, again. Elphaba had also promised Mae that she would be home for Christmas. Fiyero had used that promise as another way to get her to agree to rest. So Elphaba had decided they would stay in Kansas at least through the first of the year. Bert, therefore, found himself spending Christmas in an entirely different environment than usual.

Typically, the holiday went by without much fanfare for him. He didn't generally mind, but he also found it hard to get into the same, energetic spirit as the people around him. He thought perhaps it might be because he'd never had the things most people had that made the holiday nostalgic and magical. When he was a child, there had never been Santa Claus or stockings filled with treats. In the orphanage, with the nuns, there had only been extra stew and a longer church service. Then, when he'd run away, Christmas was merely a day when people might show compassion and give him a good meal or a bed for the night. He'd never been terribly upset about the whole experience, but he'd never latched onto the sentimental warmth of the day either. And as he got older, he naturally fell into enjoying the holiday in the same way as the other young, somewhat nomadic, working class men.

Looking back, he had memories of going out to the pubs on Christmas Eve with the other sweeps or the factory workers. Young, single, and mostly broke, they would split the cost of ale between them and toast the holiday season. Then, they would play cards and flirt with the bar maids. When the ale ran out and the games lost their appeal, they would follow the girls upstairs. For a young man, it seemed the perfect life. He wasn't tied down by location or relationship. He'd been free to do as he pleased, to stay out late or leave town and explore the world, if he had the money. Holidays were merely an extension of his carefree life.

However, as he got older, it started to feel a little hollow. Not that he'd ever wanted to settle down entirely. Bert had always looked at the white-collar men, hurrying to and from the same monotonous, indoor work every day, and felt badly for them. Still, with age, he began to realize his life could be a bit lonely. So he tried to fill the void. He made a lot of friends. He traveled whenever he could scrape together the shillings. He had a few flings that didn't last long and usually ended in someone's broken heart. The wounds weren't deep, or lasting, however, and he moved on. Then, he'd met Mary.

It was because of her that he'd started to really see how the other half of society lived. He got to know the families she worked with. He saw how the husbands and wives lived, worked, loved, struggled, and overcame those struggles. He watched the children, and was struck by how different their lives were from his. Bert began to realize what he'd missed, what he'd been without, as a child. Because of Mary, he started to think that there might be more.

It wasn't a horrible realization. He didn't suddenly regret and resent his life. It was what it was, and Bert was not one to agonize over a past he couldn't change. Still, he couldn't help wondering what he might've made of his life, if he'd had the chance. He asked himself if he would be willing to give up his freedom for the chance to have a family, to have a wife. He wondered if marriage was really all that different than the flings he'd allowed himself. He wondered if family really was so wonderful. He also clearly remembered the Christmas when he'd answered the question.

It had been several years previous, and the weather had been bitterly cold that year. Bert remembered that Mary had been in London, working for a family. It was one of the households with whom she'd stayed for quite some time. He remembered they had three little girls, all with flax-colored hair. On that Christmas Eve, Bert had curled himself up on a park bench to watch the stars. He had a small room to go home to, but the space felt somewhat claustrophobic that night. He'd decided to stay out in the fresh air until he was just too cold to tolerate it. While he was staring at the sky, Mary had come upon him. One of the children had left their scarf in the park earlier, and she'd come to look for it. He remembered how startled she'd been to find him.

"Why ever are you out here? In this cold?" she'd asked in her light, sweet voice.

Bert had looked at her, not sure how to answer. Finally, he'd just said, "I guess home seemed a little small and lonely tonight."

Mary had given him a sad look, as though, even after all this time, she'd only just realized that he had an existence apart from her. She looked at him as though, until then, he'd just been a part of her fantasy life. Then, she'd straightened herself up and insisted that he come home with her. Home to where she was working, anyway. Bert had protested, not wanting to impose on strangers, but she'd reached out and taken his hand. That was all it took, and he followed her. He followed Mary back to the tall, Victorian walkup where she was staying.

That evening had been wonderful. He'd sat next to Mary while the family sang Christmas carols and drank hot cider. He'd listened as the father read aloud from a book of Christmas stories. He'd helped bring in firewood and watched as they dressed a real Christmas tree. It had been a surreal evening, and it further emphasized how lonely he was.

The one thing that stood out the most, however, was listening to Mary sing. She'd sung for him before, to make the children smile during games. The Christmas songs, however, had been slow and haunting, and her voice was clear, light, and perfect. The youngest little girl had climbed into her lap, and the firelight had danced over them as Mary held the little girl and sang. It had stirred up something in Bert that he couldn't exactly name, a longing of sorts. It was a night Bert would always remember, a night that made him smile when times were hard, a night that made him understand the value of family.

It was also after that Christmas that he'd started to realize how strongly he felt about Mary. He wasn't just swooning because she was pretty. He'd gotten old enough to understand that girls who would go to bed with him after a pint of ale would never touch his heart. He understood that the life he'd chosen, while exciting and always changing, had its disadvantages. Namely, he would never win over a lady like Mary. Mary deserved someone educated, well-bred, and respectfully employed. She made him want to be better. She made him want to be able to take care of her. She made him think about things like commitment and family. Yet, in the same turn, he also understood that no matter how he changed himself, he would most likely never tie _her _down.

So Bert tried to be content with her friendship. He treasured the way they could chat for hours on the rooftops on her evenings off. He lived for their walks in the park and their trips to her magical place. He told her everything about himself, and she never put him down. She never flinched when he talked about his unconventional childhood. She never downplayed his significance or compared him to more affluent people. In fact, she treated him like a gentleman, like royalty, even.

After that night, Bert found himself spending his holidays alone more and more often. The frivolity of youth had worn off, and he was in love with a woman whom he could never have. Most of the time, he made a peace with it. He had Mary's friendship, and that was worth everything to him. However, at times like Christmas, he would find himself alone in his rented room with a bottle of wine. He'd never been a heavy drinker, and he couldn't stomach whiskey, but the warmth of the wine helped him through the lonely evening. Then, he got on with life.

This year, however, was entirely different. Much like that one, magical holiday, he got to spend Christmas with a family. He got to watch as Mae handed out gifts to each member of her unusual family. He got to have dinner at a table full of people, chatter, and food. He watched all the children open stockings filled with sweets. He marveled as Mary helped usher them all home when they were giddy and full of sugar. He watched Elphaba try to pretend she didn't love the chaos. He watched Adrian fawn over a more pregnant Tessy. Bert saw how they all loved each other in their own way, and he appreciated it more than usual, because they were all so different. They came from all walks of life, all backgrounds. They were not all related by blood, but they were bonded by their experiences. It gave Bert a vague sort of hope.

He also found himself with a little money for the first time in a while. Wilbur had insisted on paying him something for his work on their farm, as he did with all the other farmhands. He'd declined, at first, but Wilbur simply placed the money in his room. Deciding to graciously accept, he'd tucked it away. Bert decided, however, to use a little bit for Christmas. The day before the holiday, he'd gone into town and strolled through the shops, looking. After meticulous searching, he'd found a gift for Mary. It was something that was appropriate for a single man to give a woman, but personal enough that it wouldn't just seem polite. It was something only he would know to give her, and he hoped it would communicate how much he cared for her without crossing any boundaries. So he wrapped it carefully, and waited.

At the end of Christmas day, when the children had gone home with Fiyero and Elphaba and the others were heading to bed, Bert saw his chance. He followed Mary as she climbed the stairs. His room was just down the hall from hers, but instead of continuing past her, he stopped.

Just as she reached for her doorknob, he said softly, "Mary?"

She turned and asked, "Yes Bert?"

Swallowing over his nerves, Bert carefully produced the small, wrapped package. Handing it to her, he said, "I…I wanted you to 'ave this, for Christmas."

Taking the package from him, he could tell she was surprised, "Why Bert…you don't need to spend your money on me. Your friendship is more than a gift."

Bert nodded, "I know, Mary, but…"

He had no answer, and so he just watched as she carefully unwrapped the gift. Inside the box was a gold locket on a long, sturdy chain. It was heavy and well-made, and was meant to hold a photo. Mary turned it over in her hands quietly.

"I know you gave the other one to the Banks children, after you were with them so long," Bert explained, "And I know you end up giving the children a lot of your things…'cause you love 'em. So…I thought someone should give something to you…"

Mary continued to look at the locket, as though all words had escaped her.

Bert continued, "I figured you can decide 'ose picture you want in it. I've got no way of getting a photo that small anyways."

When she finally looked at him, Mary's eyes were full of things Bert couldn't exactly identify. She looked at him for a long moment, and then said very softly, "Thank you, Bert. You are truly one of the sweetest people in this world."

Bert smiled, pleased.

Then, she surprised him. Mary stepped in and kissed him softly on the cheek. It was something she usually reserved for when she was leaving, so Bert was unprepared. It could have been that he was just giddy that she touched him, but he thought she lingered a moment longer than was necessary. Bert felt like she kept her cheek pressed against his for an extra second. It was over before he could say for sure, though. Mary turned on her heel then and escaped into her room, leaving him with just the resounding click of the door latch and the feel of her soft skin against his face.

* * *

Over the next week, Elphaba stayed true to her word and didn't press the issue of returning to Oz. Instead, she used the time to try to formulate a plan for what they wanted to accomplish. She realized that they couldn't simply storm into Oz and demand the Animals' freedom. They would also never convince the Animals to stand up for themselves without some sort of plausible plan. So Elphaba threw herself into her work. She reread her books on Ozian History and the History of the Animal race. She studied the political details and the accounts of how things had changed during the reign of the Wizard. She tried to give herself a well-rounded perspective on Oz's cultures, strengths, and weaknesses.

It was only in doing this, Elphaba knew, that they would have a chance of making any difference. Returning in a blaze of fiery magic and demanding the Animals' rights by force would only work for so long. With that approach, she would only be seen as another tyrant, and someone would eventually rebel. She knew that to create permanent change, she had to make change that benefitted everyone. So she studied and planned, and the days passed.

She spent time observing Mary, as well. Elphaba realized that if they were to be partners in anything, they had to at least be civil to one another. They had to find some common ground, or at least understand each other. Some of the animosity between them had been tamed by Mary's willingness to help Elphaba through her paroxysm. Their discussion about the elixir had helped as well. Still, they kept each other at a distance. Elphaba, however, could not forget what Mary had said about being born of two worlds. She couldn't shake the memory of the bruises on Mary's arm.

So Elphaba watched her. She forced herself to use the keen observation skills she'd developed over the years. In doing so, she noticed a few things. Mary did indeed refuse to touch dirty dishes or carry the washbasins. She used magic to lift plates and cups, and even bed linens. She cleaned up toys and shoes when the children visited without so much as touching a thing. At first, it seemed as pretentious and vain as Elphaba imagined. On the surface, it appeared as though Mary was simply too 'perfect' to risk soiling her clothes or damaging her delicate hands. However, Elphaba noticed that Mary avoided contact in general. She wasn't just distant with Elphaba. She touched no one. She governed Dorothy, and occasionally the younger children, without so much as taking their hands, usually. She never picked them up, and tended to shy away from being embraced or tugged at. It was odd, but in light of what Elphaba knew, it started to make sense. In her mind, she started to form an explanation.

Still, there was no way she could broach the subject with Mary. They were far from being friends, still, and Elphaba knew it had been unusual for Mary to say as much as she had. Based on what Bert had told her, Mary generally said very little about herself. Elphaba was surprised to discover that not even Bert knew anything about Mary's life, her family, or how she'd first realized she could leap between worlds. As much as he had shared with Mary, she had told him nothing in return. She would talk for hours about the children, their trips into Oz, the people they met, or the good times they had, but she would not share her story. Bert thought it had something to do with him. Elphaba thought it had more to do with Mary, herself. What exactly Mary's secrets were, however, Elphaba couldn't guess. So she tried to keep her focus on planning their mission. That is, until one day just after the first of the year.

It was bitterly cold, finally, and there was a dusting of frost on the ground. The farm animals had been given extra hay and were tucked into their stalls. The fields had been prepped to survive the season. All was quiet on the Proctor farm. That morning, Elphaba had come over to help Mae can some late season vegetables for the winter. She knew very little about food preparation, but Fiyero wanted her to get out of her room for a little while. Elphaba was mostly willing, until she saw Mary sitting at the kitchen table shelling sugar snap peas. How a nanny from the city knew how to do that was beyond Elphaba's understanding. Elphaba stood there for a minute, considering her options.

Eventually, Mary spoke without looking up, "There's more than enough of these for both of us."

Elphaba took that as an invitation. Not wanting to risk ruining the truce between them, she crossed and sat down at the table across from Mary. She took one of the bowls for herself. They worked silently for a few minutes, and Elphaba tried to remember what Mae had shown her last year about the peas.

After a time, Elphaba asked, "Did Mae leave you alone with this?"

"She went down to the mill to check on the grain, for market," Mary answered.

"Ah," Elphaba replied, remembering that winter was when the farm made most of its money off of the grain harvest.

Another few minutes went by in silence. As they worked, Elphaba realized this might be her opportunity to learn something about Mary, to perhaps gain her trust. Unable to think of anything she wanted to know more, she asked, "So…have you always been so very obsessed with 'perfect'?"

Mary cut her eyes toward Elphaba for a second, "It's not an obsession, Miss Elphaba. It's simply my reality."

Elphaba bit her tongue, "Then…what made you first decide that you needed to be…perfect?"

"It wasn't a decision either," Mary said flatly, "I've always been. This is how I was born, and also what I was meant to be."

"You were meant to be perfect?" Elphaba scoffed.

Mary sighed and finally looked at Elphaba, "Not in the way you think. I can no more control the physical traits I was born with than you can. You had no say in being born green. I had no say in being born lovely. I never asked to look this way. I never asked to be stared at. It is simply who I am. Perhaps it helps the children to take to me. I like to think it's an advantage in that way."

Elphaba tried not to sound too sarcastic, "So, you really do think you're beautiful? Perfectly beautiful? To everyone?"

"Perfect does not necessarily mean 'better than everyone else', Miss Elphaba. Perfect means 'satisfying all requirements' or 'without fault or defect'. Someone once told me that…that I looked like a doll. Perfectly made. In other words, just right. Not devastatingly beautiful, but not unpleasant. I know that beauty is subjective, but if you take out the sentiment, there is such a thing as a perfectly formed person."

"Still, it's off-putting, to call yourself 'perfect'," Elphaba argued.

"Maybe," Mary cocked her head, "but it's true. However, what I called myself was 'practically perfect'. What I was referring to has nothing to do with looks. Practically perfect can be as simple as not allowing sentiment to muddle your thinking."

Elphaba sighed and snapped a few more peas, "And what does that mean?"

"Most of our greatest downfalls, as people, come from letting sentiment rule our lives. When we surrender to our emotions instead of choosing what is the most practical, necessary, or mutually beneficial, we generally end up with a mess. Kingdoms have fallen and wars have been fought because of unchecked emotions," Mary explained.

"I'll admit, I used to think that way myself…but not because I thought I was perfect," Elphaba replied.

"You will be what you allow yourself to think that you are," Mary said, in an open-ended sort of way.

Elphaba grit her teeth and thought about it. Begrudgingly, she then asked, "Don't you ever worry about offending people? Or making them feel less significant than you?"

Mary thought for a moment, "No. I tell the truth. Sometimes the truth is a little offensive, but people appreciate it in the long run. And I've never put you, or anyone else, down. You are not less important because you are the way you are. I was made this way for a reason, for the work I'm given. Perfection is necessary. What kind of role model would I be otherwise?"

Elphaba thought for a moment, trying to keep her mind open, "So you're saying…you have to be perfect because your job is to cause others to aspire to be better?"

Mary took a moment, and then said, "Yes. When it comes to character, discipline, and control, I strive for perfection. As for looks, I am what I am…and it is sometimes more of a burden than you know."

Elphaba thought about that, and then countered, "Are people born perfect, or do they have perfection thrust upon them?"

Mary looked at her strangely.

"I was once told that I am an example of sin, and all that's wrong in the world" Elphaba continued, "I was told I was born that way. Do you think that's true as well?"

Mary studied the peas for a minute, and then asked, "Do you?"

Elphaba looked in Mary's eyes and answered, "I think most of us are more than the labels we're given. I don't think the world is that black and white. I don't believe that never getting messy, angry, or acting impulsively means you've led a perfect life."

"Actually, it does," Mary argued softly.

Elphaba looked at her for a moment, "Well, then I guess I have no interest in perfection. I believe in giving of myself. I work hard to be excellent with the animals I help. But I need the freedom to scream and rant and rave if I want to. I need to be vulnerable, sometimes. And I'm not enough, on my own. I need Fiyero. Perhaps if I were perfect, I could get by on my own, but I proved a long time ago that I can't. I have that weakness, but through it, Fiyero makes me stronger. If having a weakness makes me imperfect, then I'll take it."

Mary looked away, and was very still for a moment. Then she went back to the peas, refusing to say anything more.

* * *

The following morning, Elphaba woke to find that it was snowing. She'd never been much for snow, especially having spent most of her life avoiding it. In Oz, a good snowfall made the landscape a minefield of ways for her to burn herself. The negative impression had yet to fully wear off. So she sat in her room after breakfast, reading.

After about an hour, Fiyero knocked on the doorframe, saying, "Fae? Bert's at the door. He says it's important."

Elphaba set her book aside, wondering what might be going on. She crossed through her house to the foyer and greeted Bert, "Yes?"

Bert looked at her with wide, concerned eyes, "Elphaba…it's Mary. She's gone."

"What?" Elphaba looked confused.

"She left a note for Dorothy this morning, and she's gone. Just like all the other times…"

"What other times?" Elphaba snapped.

"You know," Bert explained, "when the wind changes…and she leaves…"

Then, Elphaba realized what he meant, "So…she just left? On her own? She left you here and went…where?"

Bert bit his lip, "She always leaves me. I don't travel with her. Only she knows where she's gone. Only she can 'ear the wind, or 'owever she does it. Something calls 'er to the children or calls 'er away. I don't understand it, but I see it 'appen."

Elphaba fought back the urge to get angry, "So she went back to the children? In London?"

Bert shrugged sadly, "I'd assume so, but I don't know…"

"Did she tell anyone she left?" Elphaba demanded.

"She left a note for Dorothy, but that's all," Bert answered.

With an exasperated sigh, Elphaba stormed past Bert and took off across the field towards Mae's house. Bert followed, watching as she hugged her arms around herself and picked carefully through the snow. When they got to the big house, they found Mae, Emily and Dorothy in the kitchen. Dorothy looked quite despondent as she clutched a piece of paper and a hardbound book.

Elphaba asked immediately, "Did anyone see her leave?"

They all shook their heads.

"She left me this," Dorothy handed Elphaba the paper.

Elphaba took it and quickly scanned what it said.

_Dorothy…keep reading the stories. 'Till we meet again, Mary Poppins._

"All her things are gone, too," Dorothy said softly, "Except for this book. She left me the book we were reading..."

"She tends to do that..." Bert said in a sentimental sort-of way.

Elphaba stood there for a moment, considering her options. On one hand, she could simply let Mary go. Since she'd already figured out the spell that allowed her to fly and do any number of other things, she didn't know that she needed Mary for that anymore. Still, Elphaba hadn't been able to go to Oz yet and figure out what her potential was. She hadn't explored her new abilities. Then, there was the fact that Mary also seemed to have some sort of unnatural influence over people. She drew people in the way Elphaba usually repelled people. It was something that could be invaluable in trying to influence an entire society.

_I need her,_ Elphaba told herself, not wanting to admit that there was also an unexplained connection between them. In spite of their vast differences, and in the same way that Elphaba had been drawn to Dorothy, there was something that made her want to know more about Mary. They were both, after all, children of two worlds. So she drew a deep breath and handed the paper back to Dorothy.

Turning towards the door, Elphaba said, "Mae? Tell Fiyero I'll be back shortly."

Mae gave her a worried smile and a quick nod.

Elphaba then stormed out the kitchen door and into the yard. Over her shoulder, she called, "Come on, Bert."

Looking confused a little afraid, he followed, asking, "What are we doing?"

"We're going to find Mary," Elphaba snapped.

Bert's expression lightened, and he nodded. Then, Elphaba took his hand. Focusing hard on Mary, she closed her eyes and hoped that this would work. She hoped that, like the times before, she could simply focus on Mary and find her.

When Elphaba opened her eyes a moment later, she found herself in Oz. It was only then, after looking around, that she remembered a potentially important detail. Focusing on Mary in order to find her should only work if they were in opposite worlds. They couldn't leap through space alone. Elphaba, however, had thought that Mary would've gone back to London, which would've placed them in the same world. However, logic seemed to dictate, since she'd been lead into Oz, that Mary must be here.

Turning to Bert, she asked, "Usually, when Mary's called away from London, has she ever told you where she goes?"

"No," Bert shook his head.

"Has she ever taken on children from Oz, that you know of?"

"She's never told me about it, if she 'as. She won't say much about what she does when she disappears."

Elphaba considered what he said. Then, she took Bert's hand again and focused on Mary. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited. Nothing happened. This time, they remained where they were. They were still in a field in Oz. Looking around again, Elphaba considered her surroundings. She determined that they must be on the outskirts of the Emerald City, just off the Yellow Brick Road. Elphaba then tried to guess where Mary might be. After all, there wasn't much around, as far as places to stay went.

Scanning the landscape, Elphaba spotted a large house off in the distance. There was also a driveway for carriages a ways off that most likely lead back to the Yellow Brick Road. With Bert trailing behind, Elphaba took off toward the house. When she got within a few paces, she stopped. Something was oddly familiar. It took her a moment to realize that this was the same place that used to house the Mauntery where she'd once stayed. It had been so many years, however, and she'd been in such a poor state when she'd left, that it was a fuzzy memory. Now, Elphaba wondered why Mary would be here.

With a heavy sigh, she led the way across the scrubby field to the large, three-story house. As they got closer, she noticed how poorly maintained the yards were. The house was also sorely in need of a washing and painting. The shutters hung haphazardly, and there were no animals grazing in the fields. Climbing the steps to the porch, Elphaba pounded on the heavy, double doors. Bert stood next to her, uncertain.

There was some shuffling inside, and a long time passed before anyone came to the door. When it was opened, Elphaba was shocked to find Mary on the other side of the door. Still dressed in her crisp, black walking coat and her black, straw hat, Mary had clearly not been there long. Elphaba stared at her for a long moment, not sure what to ask first.

Finally, she said, "What in the name of all Oz are you doing here?"

Mary, for one of the first times since they'd met, looked uncertain. Looking around the yard carefully, she finally gestured for Elphaba and Bert to come inside. Closing the door behind them, she folded her hands together and considered what to say. During, the pause, Elphaba looked around, taking in the very poor condition of the house. It was a large homestead, with a sprawling foyer and a good drawing room. She vaguely remembered it being decently appointed and housing perhaps a dozen maunts. There used to be a garden and well-kept courtyard. Now, though, it was in a state of disarray, as though the occupants had left in a hurry.

Finally, after a few minutes, Mary spoke, "I think, perhaps for the first time in my career, that I may have misunderstood my calling."

"What?" Elphaba looked at her in confusion.

Mary looked flustered, which was entirely out of character, "I've…well I've only been called into Oz three times, in all these years. All of those times, it was in the north, where the forests are. And only for about a week, each. I've always been a bit…afraid…to stay here too long. But…I know I felt the wind pulling me here. I'm sure. But…this is no home. This is no family…"

As Mary struggled, Elphaba looked around. She saw no one, and had to agree, "The house is empty…" she stated.

"No…" Mary shook her head. Taking a deep breath, she led them down the hallway and through the kitchen. Just off the large room was the pantry. Mary crossed to it and pulled open the door. Inside, huddled in the corner, were several Animals. They were all children and, after a moment, Elphaba recognized some of them.

They were the Animals from a few weeks previous, when they'd visited the city. There was the Leopard and the Monkey. There was one of the Dogs. There was also a Capuchin, a pair of Kittens, and a Foal who looked barely old enough to speak. They were dirty, shaking, and clearly terrified. Elphaba looked them over, and then looked back at Mary.

"They claim they've run away from the city. Their parents were killed in a raid on their ward…" Mary said softly.

Elphaba could see the torment on Mary's face, and the absolute terror in the Animals' eyes. It both broke her heart and made her livid. Turning to back to the pantry, she said, "My name is Elphaba Thropp, and I've not come to hurt you."

They calmed somewhat, and Elphaba motioned for Mary to follow her. Leaving the children, who wouldn't dare come out of the pantry, they walked outside through the back door. Bert followed quietly.

Once in the yard, Elphaba looked at Mary intently for a moment, and then asked, "Tell me…what happens when the 'wind changes'? What do you hear?"

Clearly uncomfortable with the question, Mary said, "I can't say…"

"Well, say something. The time for secrets is over. You've got no reason to hide from me, and I can't help you figure this out if you aren't honest with me. How do you know where to go?"

Mary struggled again, and then said, "I…don't know exactly. I feel it, like the rush of the wind. It comes over me, usually in the morning when the sun's in the east. I feel the children's need, and I focus on it…"

"Well," Elphaba stated, "I think this calls your anti-sentiment method of living into question."

"What?" Mary snapped.

"I think it's interesting that not three weeks after seeing these children for the first time, something pulled you in their direction," Elphaba answered.

"I've no idea what you're talking about…" Mary looked away.

Then, something else occurred to Elphaba. She looked at Bert, who still looked confused, and then back to Mary. Then, she said, "Have you ever wondered why it is that you are consistently called to London? Aren't there children all over the world, in two worlds, that might need you?"

"I'm not sure what you're getting at," Mary adjusted her gloves.

Elphaba allowed herself a tiny smile, "I'm saying that something, or _someone_, draws you in the direction of London. And now something has drawn you toward these children. I'm saying that you're 'wind' may not be as objective as you think. It may be swayed by your own feelings."

Mary cut her eyes back toward Elphaba, "That is absolutely untrue, and somewhat offensive."

Elphaba crossed her arms, "Then explain what brought you here, to these particular Animals."

"They're in need," Mary said quickly.

"Lots of children are in need. Why these, over all the others?"

"I've been called into Oz before, Miss Elphaba."

"And who did you care for?" Elphaba asked.

Mary hesitated, "Children from the only village I'd visited. Children who's parents had business elsewhere for a short time."

"Children whom you'd seen before?" Elphaba asked.

Mary was quiet for a moment, "Yes. They were orphans, adopted by a family who traveled now and then to earn a living."

"You see then?" Elphaba exclaimed, "There is a connection."

"It's a patchy theory, at best," Mary snipped.

"Your constant denial doesn't make it less true," Elphaba shot back, "and I think we can all guess at what your connection to London might be…"

Mary cocked her head and gave Elphaba a hard glare, "I don't think I appreciate your implications, Miss Elphaba."

"Again, that doesn't make them untrue," Elphaba shot back.

"I think," Mary said evenly, "that I might need to handle this on my own."

Elphaba grit her teeth and fired back, "No, I think what you need to do is let yourself care about this. You need to get angry at what's happened to those children. You need to be enraged and devastated at how these Animals have to live. You need scream or cry or whatever it takes to summon up enough courage to do something about it!"

Mary sounded less confident when she said, "I do not scream and cry."

"Then maybe it's time!" Elphaba shouted, "Maybe it's time to step out of your perfect, protected little shell! Maybe it's time to _do _something! Get involved! Get your hands dirty! Stop worrying about the image you project, and worry about the difference you can make!"

"Dirty!" Mary cut in, raising her chin, "The very thought!"

Elphaba plowed on, "Your influence is so much greater if you're willing to get a little messy! In fact…"

Elphaba took a step forward then, so that she was much closer to Mary than would generally be comfortable. In one, quick, flurry of motion, she pulled off Mary's hat and thoroughly mussed her hair. Elphaba pulled it loose from its pins and tangled the perfect waves at her face. Then, she stepped back, the hat still in her hand.

Mary gave a little squeal and jumped backward as though she'd been stung. Her hands flew to her face, and then to her hopelessly disheveled hair.

"How dare you!" she managed to squeak.

"It's just hair, Mary, and it's not so bad, is it? Being messy?" Elphaba challenged.

Mary's expression wavered somewhere between angry and afraid, as she tried to fix her hair, "How absolutely impertinent!" she squealed in Elphaba's general direction.

Realizing her hair was hopelessly ruined, she started pulling the pins out. At the same time, she took off back towards the house. Elphaba and Bert followed close behind. Once inside, they followed Mary to the foyer, where there was a large mirror hanging on the wall. Mary's features were set in a frustrated grimace as she pulled out the last of the hairpins. Then, she stood there, with her hair hanging loose. It was longer than Elphaba would've guessed, and was deepest, chestnut brown. For a fleeting moment, Mary looked incredibly young and innocent. Without the austere, upswept style, she was even more delicately pretty. What she lost, however, was the appearance of authority. The effect merely reinforced Elphaba's belief that much of Mary's self-worth was wrapped up in a façade she had created. In the moment, however, there wasn't time to make such an analyzation.

Instead, Elphaba said, "Hair can be fixed. Messes can be cleaned up. So it's worth the risk of a mess, if it means making a great difference."

Mary didn't answer, as she wound her hair back up behind her head and stabbed it with hairpins.

"Real love, real commitment, a real experience…those things are all worth the risk of failure or heartache. Trust me…I've risked everything, lost everything, and yet somehow found it all again," Elphaba said softly, "You have no idea how it's changed me, and made me better…"

Mary still said nothing.

During the entire exchange, Bert had said very little. He now stood just behind Mary, watching her. His eyes were full of longing, concern, and pent-up, unexpressed emotion. After a long moment of silence, he said, "Mary…I think she might 'ave a point. You won't know 'ow much good you're capable of doing, unless you try. And…I know I'll never think less of you, no matter 'ow messy you get…"

Mary continued to fix her hair, but she slowed down. Some of the anger faded. Elphaba could see how much Bert influenced her. She had become intuitive enough, with age, to see that Mary valued his opinion above everyone else. It made her wonder why Mary kept him at such a distance. Mary seemed to value marriage and family. She wasn't against love and relationships, in general. So Elphaba wondered why she kept herself from him, when Bert was clearly a kind and faithful person.

After another minute, Mary finished perfectly pinning her hair. Then, she turned and, with a heavy sigh, finally conceded, "All right. I will consider helping you. If you'll tell me what you have planned, I'll consider it."

Elphaba forced herself not to smile too broadly. With a nod of her head, she led the way into the drawing room to sit down. Momentarily, she sent Bert back to the pantry to check on the children. He returned after a minute, stating that they were no worse off, for now. Satisfied, Elphaba started talking.

"I think we need to start by going to the Animals themselves. There are several large, reservations where they've been forced to move. We need to gain their support, to see if they are willing to go to battle for their rights, if it comes to that. Then, we need to go the Emerald City and appeal to the current leadership. I believe the Palace has exchanged hands several times since the Wizard disappeared, and things have been rather unstable. That, actually, makes this a good time to act. We can appeal to the uncertainty of a new leader. Hopefully, we can convince them to let us act as a mediator between the government and other regions of Oz. If we can peacefully negotiate a way to reintroduce Animals into society as equal citizens, we'll avoid conflict. It has to benefit everyone, though, because the Wizard convinced most of the population that the Animals were simply another drain on already limited resources. If we can make this work for everyone, we can change things peacefully."

Mary listened carefully, her hands folded in her lap. After a minute, she said, "And what would you have me do? I'm no political leader."

"No, but you are even tempered and a good negotiator. You understand people. Sometimes, I even think you can read their thoughts a little. You influence people. We need that," Elphaba answered.

Mary still wasn't convinced, "So, suddenly, my even temper is an asset? After you've been trying to convince me to abandon it and act on whatever whim strikes me?"

"An even temper has its place, sometimes. All I said was that it's okay to lose that temper once in a while," Elphaba countered.

Mary studied her, thinking.

"I also need your magic," Elphaba added, "I don't know that I'm as adept as you, quite yet."

Mary still said nothing. The next few minutes were very quiet.

Eventually, Mary said, "All right. For the children, I'll help you. I'll do what you've said. But I will fight no battles. That is something I simply cannot do."

Elphaba gave her a tiny smile, "That isn't something I would ask of you."

They all looked at each other then, knowing things were about to get messy.


	12. Chapter 12

**Here's more for you. And I've enjoyed hearing from you. I think I like reviews not because I need people to say they like my story, but because I love having a discussion about the story. I love to talk, which is part of why fanfiction is so awesome. So keep those thoughtful reviews coming and let me know what you think. :-)**

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**Chapter 12**

It took them more than two weeks to visit all of the rogue, groupings of Animals in Oz. Upon realizing how long they would be gone, Elphaba had returned briefly to Kansas to get her hat and broom, and to let Bert retrieve some of his things. She had kissed Fiyero long and hard, and promised to be careful. Then, they'd returned to the old mauntery house. Mary was still with the children, whom they'd decided to help first. Using both Elphaba and Mary's powers, they had leapt them through the other world, and then on to the reservation in Ugabu. Thankfully, the other Animals took them in, placing them with other families who could afford to share their meager resources. They were certainly still traumatized, and this wasn't the ideal situation for them, but it was the best they could do. Mary had taken her time saying goodbye, and Elphaba was glad to finally see some emotion from her. She was glad to see Mary allowing herself to openly care.

Then, using those children as an example, Elphaba began making her pitch to the outcast Animals. They moved from reservation to reservation, and then on to other nomadic groups of Animals. They traveled the whole of Oz, from the northern Gillikin Forest to the swamps of Quadling country. It was a trek that would've taken months, were they not able to leap from place to place. To each group of Animals, Elphaba made her plea, explaining how she believed they could bring change to Oz.

The reactions were mixed. Some were ready to storm the palace and take back their freedom, while others simply feared for the safety of their families. They'd all seen their share of unprovoked violence. They'd all seen the Gale Force use its authority to subdue rebellion, usually with a musket ball to the head. The Animals had lost their share of young men in skirmishes. They'd seen their women and children killed in cold blood, simply to make a point. There was an understandable amount of grim resolution that their fate would never change. Still, most of them were willing to fight, if it came to it. Most of them wanted a better life for their children or grandchildren, if not for themselves. So Elphaba appealed to that. She pleaded with them to be ready to stand up for themselves, if she could give them the chance.

As they left each group of Animals, they promised to return after they'd visited the Emerald City. Elphaba planned to make her appeal to the government next. She understood that the leadership had changed hands three times since the Wizard's departure, and that the current leader had holed himself up in the palace. He was apparently trying to establish some sort of theocracy, using religion to further persecute the Animals. Elphaba's hope was that this new leader was weak and uncertain enough to be swayed by hers and Mary's power. She hoped to instill just enough fear to get him to allow her to negotiate a treaty, rather than trying to take the palace by force.

Another result of their trek around Oz was that Elphaba and Mary were forced to find a way to get along. Since they had no choice but to spend time together, they had to make peace. Once Mary found it in her heart to forgive Elphaba for both invading her personal space and messing up her perfectly coiffed hair, they called another truce. They talked occasionally, if a bit haltingly, and tried to find common ground. Once in a while, they even laughed together. They were still too distant with one another to be real friends, but they tried to understand each other. They both knew that, to work together, they had to accept each other. So they tried to put aside what made them different, and focus on their common goal.

After more than two weeks of appealing to the groups of Animals, Elphaba decided it was time to turn their attention toward the Emerald City. It was time to face the new leader of Oz. Using their powers once again, they leapt themselves to the outskirts of the metropolis. This time, however, none of them were surprised at what they saw. There was still rampant poverty, overshadowed by the smallest, wealthiest, most oblivious portion of society. There was the noise and the chaos, the ghettos, the restaurants, and the markets where goods were traded. It was a city like every other city, in every other world. Still, it was a city with a lot of memories, for Elphaba.

Trying to put those things aside, Elphaba focused on leading the way to the palace. She wasn't sure how exactly they would gain entrance, or convince anyone to see them, but she would figure it out. She wasn't above using magick. If that's what it took, she would do it. She was beyond the point of worrying if people thought she was witch, or a sorceress, or another wizard, even. She didn't care if they revered her or feared her, for now. Elphaba just wanted the chance to be heard.

So they made the trek into the city, and found a small room they could rent for a few days. They had very little Ozian money, at this point, so they settled for a nondescript room over a tavern. They also couldn't afford to be at all conspicuous, so Elphaba and Mary hung back, and they let Bert rent the room. Then, they climbed the stairs and surveyed the space. They realized very quickly that it was, in fact, only one room. There were two small beds and a very questionable-looking chair. There was, however, a good fireplace. Mary looked around, wide-eyed, having never shared a room with anyone before.

"I suppose we'll work out our sleeping arrangements later," Elphaba suggested.

Bert nodded, and Mary began to riffle through her carpet bag. For the next few minutes, they settled in, finding a place for the few things they'd brought. Then, they prepared to visit the palace for the first time.

Mary had pulled on her bright red coat and was buttoning the black buttons on the front, when Elphaba noticed her, and said, "Really? Of all the things? You're wearing that?"

Mary raised an eyebrow, "And what's wrong with this?"

"Don't you think it's a bit…conspicuous?" Elphaba pointed out.

Mary looked entirely offended, "Not especially. It's a good coat."

"Yes, but…I could see you from five blocks away," Elphaba replied dryly.

"It is never my intention to be conspicuous. Nor do I attempt to hide," Mary snapped.

Elphaba grit her teeth, "Don't you think this might be a time to hide, though?"

Mary cocked her head, "You're so worried about my coat, but you are…green, Miss Elphaba."

Elphaba fought to keep her temper in check, "That is true, but I make an effort to cover it up."

"My concealing myself won't do anything to help this cause. I can do the same good whether I'm dressed in black or red or purple. We're appealing to the leader of Oz. I think that will make us conspicuous enough."

Elphaba had no argument against that, so she let it go. She decided that Mary might have a point. Shortly, they would either have leadership on their side, or they would be anti-government conspirators. Not much could hide that, Elphaba decided.

Letting it go, she led the way out of the tavern and toward the palace. As they walked, Elphaba focused on what she hoped to say, on what she most wanted to communicate. She had asked Bert and Mary to let her speak, since she knew the background of Oz so much better than the two of them. She thought it best if she did the talking, and let Mary try to discern something about this new leader of Oz. If Mary could tell anything this person's motives, they would discuss that after the fact. Magick was a last resort, at this point, and they'd agreed it would only be used as self-defense. Diplomacy was their first tactic.

With all of that in mind, they approached the palace gates. Standing in front of the mammoth, iron bars, Elphaba took a deep breath. She then approached one of the well-dressed guards and said, "We would like an audience with the leader of Oz at the next possible, available time."

One of the guards turned and smirked at her.

Elphaba fought the urge to smack him. Wearing her hat, scarves, and her concealing, black, winter dress, he wasn't able to make out that she was green. He must simply think she was crazy, or presumptuous.

She said in return, "Is there something funny?"

"No one gets an audience with His Holiness. Everyone knows that."

"His Holiness?" Elphaba spat.

"Yes," the guard retorted, "All communication goes through his Press Secretary."

"Press Secretary?" she asked tightly.

The guard scoffed, "Are you ignorant? Yes, Press Secretary. It's been that way since His Holiness took the palace. You must make an appointment with Lady Glinda."

Elphaba froze, "Lady Glinda?"

The guard looked annoyed enough to slap her, "Yes! Are you hard of hearing?"

Elphaba recovered, "No. Not in the least. And I would appreciate knowing how to make an appointment."

"Send in a request and it will be reviewed, like all the others," the guard sighed.

Elphaba balled her hands into fists, "And how long will that take?"

The guard snorted, "Couple of months, at least. His Holiness doesn't have much time for…trivial matters."

"And how do you know it's trivial?" Elphaba demanded.

The guard gave her a withering look and rolled his eyes.

Elphaba was enraged. She started to storm away, but Mary stepped up to the guard and stated, "It is entirely unnecessary for you to be so rude, considering we are guests in your city. We mean no harm, and it would do you good to either change your attitude, or find more suitable employment elsewhere."

Then, with a curt smile, she walked away.

Elphaba, who usually resorted to screaming and insulting, was pleasantly surprised. Apparently, Mary did have her own way of getting angry. It wasn't exactly ranting and raving, but she had another level and it was surprisingly effective. The guard looked entirely put in his place. Elphaba was pleased.

They walked away then, because talking with the guard was getting them nowhere.

Once they were a safe distance away, Bert asked, "Now what?"

Elphaba, not paying attention to him, wrung her hands together. Now that they'd walked away from the guard, she was focusing on what he'd said. Elphaba mumbled, "I just can't believe it…I mean, it only makes sense…but I never thought it would be her…"

Mary looked at her, perplexed.

Elphaba tried to find the right explanation. She'd been trying to avoid everyone from her past for this very reason. And now, by some twist of fate, she was faced with Glinda. It wasn't an unpleasant notion, seeing her again, but meeting Glinda meant explaining to Mary how they knew each other. It meant bringing up Shiz and a whole host of other things. It meant looking into her past, and Elphaba tried not to do that too frequently. So she chewed her lip, pensive.

There was a long silence.

Finally, Elphaba said, "I know Lady Glinda, the Press Secretary. I've known her…for years."

"Then that should 'elp us, shouldn't it?" Bert finally spoke.

Mary looked on, curious.

Elphaba sighed, "Maybe…she and I didn't part on very good terms…"

"Still," Mary spoke up, "if you know her, then that means you can…find her, if you like. It means…we may not need an appointment…"

It was the first time Elphaba had heard Mary imply doing something even slightly wrong. She was suggesting they simply leap to Glinda, rather than make an appointment. It was an incredbly good, and very risky, idea. Still, Elphaba was glad that Mary was finally contributing. It was good to see her actively working toward their goal, and being a little less than perfect. And Mary had a very good point. If Elphaba could focus on Glinda, they could find her. It was their advantage.

Elphaba quickened her pace, then, leading the way back to their rented room. She wanted to be out of sight any time they chose to leap between worlds. It was part of the effort not to make a spectacle of themselves. Back in the privacy of their room, Elphaba reached out for Bert and Mary's hands. She leapt them into the fields of Kansas momentarily. Then, focusing on Glinda, as she'd known her, Elphaba leapt them back into Oz.

A moment later, they found themselves in one of the larger rooms in the palace. It was set up as an office, with a large, Quoxwood desk and several fluffy chairs. The décor was decidedly gaudy. The curtains were overly ruffled, the carpet thick and plush. By the window, a lone figure stood, staring out at the city below. It was Glinda.

She was just as Elphaba remembered. She wasn't a young girl anymore, but she was still delicately beautiful. Her hair shone like new wheat. Her skin was still ivory and soft, and only hinted at soft, laugh lines. As Elphaba would have expected, she was dressed extravagantly in a bustled, pink gown with a daring, scooped neck. It was absolutely Galinda, or Glinda, and just seeing her stirred up so many things in Elphaba's spirit.

It took just a moment for Glinda to realize she was no longer alone. Turning, she suddenly, and very dramatically, startled, screaming, "Sweet Oz!"

Elphaba quickly removed her hat, and unwound the scarf to reveal her face. She knew they didn't have time for guessing games or breaking this news gently. Glinda needed to know that the Wicked Witch of the West, her former friend, was alive.

When Elphaba's face was entirely exposed, Glinda's hands flew to her mouth, and she squealed wordlessly.

Mary looked back and forth between them, perplexed.

"She thought I was dead," Elphaba explained to Mary, "All of Oz did."

"Elphie?" Glinda finally whispered, when she'd stopped squealing.

Elphaba nodded, "Yes. I'm alive…and it is a very long story. And I will tell you, but first, we need an appointment to see…His Holiness?"

Glinda, not listening at all, rushed at Elphaba. She nearly knocked her down in a fierce embrace. Elphaba stood there, overwhelmed by a mass of frilly, pink dress. After a moment, Glinda stepped back, her expression suddenly angry.

She shook Elphaba by her shoulders, saying, "How dare you stay away this long and let me think you'd died! How absolutely dreadful!"

"It wasn't exactly intentional," Elphaba tried to defend herself.

"Goodness knows!" Glinda hugged her again, "The last time I saw you, you were after those ridiculous shoes! And people were calling you a Wicked Witch!"

"Yes…" Elphaba recalled with distaste.

Glinda's eyes were suddenly teary as she asked, "Why wouldn't you at least send word that you're alive?"

Elphaba sighed heavily. This was the very conversation she would rather not have had, right now. Choosing her words carefully, she said, "I've been…somewhere else all this time, Glinda. It was only just recently that I realized I could come back. Otherwise, I would've sent word…at least to you…"

Glinda gave a tiny smile.

"But right now," Elphaba went on, "I very much need an appointment to speak with…His Holiness."

Glinda suddenly looked taken aback, "Whatever for? And after you've been gone for…more than a year?"

Elphaba sighed, "I know…but it's very, very important."

Glinda pursed her lips, "I would think so, since it seems to matter more to you than telling me how you're not…dead!"

Deciding that she did owe her old friend something, Elphaba took Glinda's hands in hers and said, "You are my friend. You've always been my friend. I was horrible to you at our last meeting, and for that, I'm sorry. I was horrible to a lot of people. I made a lot of mistakes, and focused on a lot of the wrong things. But I did not intend to deceive you. To be quite honest, I thought I was dying, myself, when the water hit me…"

Glinda's expression became more understanding. She wrapped Elphaba in another embrace, and said, "I was really quite devastated, even though you were so angry with me when we last talked…"

Elphaba said into Glinda's shoulder, "I didn't know I mattered that much to you…"

Glinda chuckled through her tears, "You always did underestimate the value of our friendship."

Elphaba pulled back then, and said softly, "I think I've learned something about friendship, this past year…"

There was a quiet moment then, as the two women studied each other.

Then, Elphaba burst out with, "Oh! This is Mary…and this is Bert. They're from…well…another world. Again…it's quite a story…"

"Come," Glinda said, "We can talk in the courtyard, and you can tell me all about it."

Deciding it would be rude to make any more demands without spending some time with her old friend, Elphaba conceded. She gestured for Bert and Mary, and they followed Glinda. As they walked, their footsteps echoed in the silent halls. Since it was so heavily guarded, the palace was nearly devoid of other people, even staff. Glinda led the way to one of the inner courtyards, which was filled with plants of every size and color. It provided a good environment for sharing their stories, because there were no prying eyes or ears. They took seats on the stone benches, across from one another.

Over the next few hours, Elphaba filled Glinda, and therefore Mary and Bert, in on what had happened just before, and then after, her 'melting'. She was forced to explain her bizarre and somewhat insane behavior in Kiamo Ko. She was forced to admit to threatening Dorothy. She was forced to explain something of her life to Bert and Mary, to help them all understand how troubled she had been. She told the story as quickly and objectively as possible. Then, she explained where she'd been for more than a year. She told the rest of her story, from finding herself in Kansas, to meeting Mae, to the moment when Fiyero found her again. She told of her friendship with Tessy, and marrying Fiyero. She told about hers and Dorothy's timid friendship. Elphaba saw Glinda's face change from wary to compassionate as she talked.

Then, she explained why they were back in Oz. She explained about Mary, and how they were born of two worlds. She talked about the Animals, and what she wanted to do for them. She explained why it meant so much to her, and about how she was able to do things for the animals in the other world that no one else could. She explained about meeting Bert and Mary, and how they hoped to work together. She even implied that Mary was in the business of helping others, not wanting to give away more than Mary wanted to reveal. Finally, she hinted at how powerful the two of them might be, together.

Glinda looked at Elphaba for a long moment, and then said, "There was a time when you said that about me…that we could do great things together…"

"I remember," Elphaba whispered, "And maybe, now, we still can…"

Glinda considered that for a long time, studying Elphaba, and then the sky. When she finally answered, Elphaba saw the maturity that came with age. Glinda said, "Give me three days. I'll find a way to get you an audience. Prepare what you want to say, and be here at noon on the third day."

Elphaba nodded, and quietly told Glinda where they were staying, in case she needed to find them. Then, she gave her old friend another quick embrace. As they walked away, she was happier than she would admit, to have found Glinda again.

* * *

Three days later, Mary and Elphaba stood outside the palace again, waiting for their audience with His Holiness. They had left Bert in their rented room this time, not wanting to endanger him if things didn't go smoothly. He'd argued, at first, but then had to concede that the two of them, with all their powers, were better off than he in this situation. This was also supposed to be merely a discussion, so Elphaba and Mary went alone. Now, they waited, as one of the guards confirmed that they had an appointment.

Nearly a half hour later, they were waiting in the innermost chamber of the palace. The guards had taken their coats, including Mary's cherished red walking coat, and both of their hats, and sent them with a palace servant. They'd been offered refreshments, and then lead to this room to wait. Looking around now, Elphaba remembered the last time she'd been here. She remembered arguing with the Wizard, and being a bit out of her mind. It had been a difficult time, and she'd changed a lot since then. Her passion, however, had not changed. She still wanted to make a difference in Oz, and this was the second chance she'd never thought would come. So Elphaba intended to make the most of it.

She was still running over what she wanted to say, in her head, when His Holiness entered the room. Crossing to sit on the large throne on the gaudy and pompous platform in the center of the room, His Holiness looked at them silently. And Elphaba stared at him. She stared at him, and felt a sudden heaviness in her stomach. She was absolutely unable to believe this new, unexpected, twist of fate.

His Holiness was none other than her younger brother, Shell. It had been years since she'd seen him, and he'd certainly grown up in that time. However, he was still the very average-looking, cocky young man she remembered. He looked at her and Mary with an expression of casual annoyance, and adjusted the collar of his crisp, Unionist suit. After a moment, he recognized who he was looking at.

Appearing only the slightest bit affected, Shell said, "Elphaba? Truly? And I thought you'd finally died…"

Elphaba felt her blood boil, "And I thought I was finally rid of my judgmental, bigoted, uneducated family."

"That's a bit harsh, don't you think? For your own flesh and blood?" Shell threw back.

Elphaba rolled her eyes, "For once, I have no problem claiming to only share one parent with you!"

Shell looked a little confused, but didn't care enough to inquire further. Instead, he demanded, "And what is it that you want?"

Elphaba looked over at Mary, and said, "This, unfortunately, is my younger brother, Shell Thropp. I know we were expecting a wise and religious leader, but instead, it appears we're getting….this."

Shell's expression darkened, "It would do you good, Fabala, to show some respect."

"Don't call me Fabala," she shot back.

"I'll call you what I like. I'm the wise and holy leader of Oz," Shell smirked.

She rolled her eyes again, "You're ten years younger than me, and you've never had the sense the Unnamed God gave a swamp rat."

"So," Shell sneered, "you've finally acknowledged the existence of our Unnamed God?"

"No," Elphaba snapped, "no matter how my beliefs might've changed, I absolutely do not subscribe your god, or Frexpar's."

"And you're still as disrespectful to our father as always, I see," Shell retorted.

"Our father is dead," Elphaba spat.

Mary stepped up then, and interjected, "I understand that this must be a family dispute that goes back some time, but I don't believe it's furthering either of our causes. Perhaps we could attend to the matter at hand?"

"I seriously doubt we'll be getting anywhere with _His Holiness_ on the throne!" Elphaba shouted.

"Just because you dislike me, doesn't mean I'm anything less than holy," Shell shot back.

Elphaba narrowed her eyes, "I know for a _fact_ that you are nowhere _close _to holy!"

"People can change, big sister. People can be reformed," Shell said somberly.

Elphaba studied him for a moment, pulling up to her full height, "That's true, but based on the current condition of Oz, I don't see any evidence that you're anything more than lazy, cowardly, and a slave to your own need for undeserved praise!"

Shell stood up then, and slowly walked over to where Elphaba stood. They were roughly the same height, and he looked her up and down with disdain, saying, "You are so quick to judge, Fabala, but don't forget…it's you who was born as an example of sin. You're the strange, ghastly green one. You're the one everyone runs from in disgust or terror. You're the one they call a wicked witch. And that is something you'll never be able to escape from. You're just an example of all that's unholy and wrong with the world."

Elphaba felt something well up in her, something between anger and terrible hurt. She was more vulnerable now than she'd been a year ago. She was more grounded, and she had peace, but she'd also shed her calloused shell of bitterness. So Shell's words stung. Elphaba raised her hand and slapped him across the face.

Shell reeled, and then called out, "Guards!"

As footsteps echoed through the throne room, Elphaba shouted, "To think, I came here to ask for your help! I came to ask for you to show mercy, to consider treating the Animals like the people that they are! If I'd known it was you on this throne, I might not have bothered! You are, after all, one of the most selfish people I've ever known!"

Shell chuckled as the two uniformed guards seized Elphaba by the arms, "You shouldn't have wasted your time. Animals contribute little to our society. They're being eliminated, as any lesser species should be."

"Lesser?" Elphaba hissed.

"Yes, Fabala," Shell spat, "Lesser. As in, not worthy of our precious resources."

"And who are you to judge someone as 'lesser'?"

Shell smirked, "Well…I learned from watching you. Father always said that, if we needed to understand sin and its consequences, we should just look at _you_."

Elphaba looked ready to murder her own brother, and yet, beneath the anger, there was pain.

It was then that Mary finally spoke up. Suddenly, with an air of unquestionable confidence, she said, "Let her go."

"What?" Shell scoffed.

"Let her go," Mary demanded evenly.

Shell laughed, "And why should I? She should've been thrown in Southstairs years ago, when she was flying around Oz like a madwoman!"

Elphaba tried to wrench away from the guards, but they held her firmly.

Mary didn't answer. Instead, she raised her hand and met Shell's eyes, saying, "You are a far cry from holy, in this world or in my world, and you will not harm Miss Elphaba."

Shell continued to smirk, and Mary waved her hand in the air. Suddenly, he was under her control. Shell's smile fell away, and he stumbled around the room at Mary's whim. Rather roughly, she forced him back to the throne in the center of the room. Then, with an angry wave of her hand, she cast a circle of fire around the throne. Shell sat there, terrified and unable to escape.

The guards still held Elphaba, but now looked at Mary in fear. She turned toward them and pressed her palms outward in front of her, wordlessly. Both guards were thrown backward onto the hard, stone floor, and were forced to release Elphaba.

Shell, still watching the exchange, pointed at Mary and shouted, "Seize her! She's a witch! Seize her!"

Recovering, the guards ran at Mary then. She barely had time to turn around before they reached her. Reacting as they would to an armed assassin, rather than a woman, they seized both of her arms and spun her around to face Shell. They jerked her arms behind her back and nearly drug her toward the throne. The, one of them produced a small blade. He stepped behind Mary and wrapped one arm roughly around her torso, pinning her to him. Then, he put the blade to her throat.

"Your Holiness, should I kill her?" he shouted.

Mary's eyes were wide in absolute terror, and Elphaba finally recovered. In a loud voice, she shouted, "Mary! Disappear! Now!"

In the next instant, they were both gone, leaving the guards and Shell utterly confused.

* * *

Mary had just enough strength, and presence of mind, to close her eyes and leap herself into the fields of Kansas. Then, after taking just a moment to collect herself, she leapt herself back into Oz, aiming for the rented room where they were staying. To her great relief, when she opened her eyes again, she was in the room above the tavern. Elphaba was already there. She was standing by the window, looking just as upset as Mary felt. Mary dropped onto one of the beds, suddenly overcome by what had just happened.

The room was very quiet for a moment, as both of them collected their thoughts, and Bert looked at them in shock. Mary sat very still, and suddenly realized she was trembling. She was shaking terribly, and she also felt a bit dizzy. She tried to collect herself, and to make sense of what had just happened.

On one hand, she was horrified at what she'd done. Mary hated violence, in general, and she'd never been one to pick a fight. She usually stayed away from conflict, preferring to subtly influence people to resolve arguments fairly, but on their own. This was one of those very rare occasions, though, where she'd had to act. She'd had to defend Elphaba, and magick was her natural reaction. Mary couldn't simply stand by and watch her accomplice be harmed.

Mary had up stood for others before, on occasion, sometimes using magick to force bullies to back off or to calm horribly unruly children. This, however, had been quite different. This was the angriest she'd ever been. This time, she'd been on the verge of actually lighting someone on fire. She'd thrown two grown men to the ground. She'd been that angry, and that afraid, for Elphaba. The idea of what she'd done horrified her, and yet she couldn't say that she regretted her actions. And that scared her even more.

So Mary sat on the bed, shaking and troubled. She was so quiet that Bert came and sat next to her, concerned. He sat there for a few minutes, and Mary said nothing. They all took a few calming breaths. The clocked ticked loudly, and they were all very still.

Finally, Bert asked, "What 'appened?"

Elphaba crossed the room and sat down on the other, small bed, across from Mary, "They tried to kill us. Quite literally. We were a few seconds away from them slitting her throat."

Bert's eyes got very wide, and he looked at Mary with great concern.

Normally, Mary would've downplayed the situation, or pretended it never happened. She was good at that. When emotions ran high or she was forced to use a great display of magic, she usually found it best to simply deny everything. However, she was so flustered and overwhelmed that she couldn't even make herself respond. Mary just sat there and, for one of the only times in her life, she wished that someone would touch her. She wished that Bert would put his arms around her. Then, she was angry at herself, because she always worked so hard not to be needy. She prided herself on not needing affection. It was her job to teach others how to comfort each other, not to demand it herself. Still, when Bert placed his hand on her back, to calm her trembling, she didn't have the strength to resist.

"Mary?" he said, worried.

She placed her hands in her lap and took a deep breath, then said, "It's all right, Bert. It's over now. And we all knew this would not be easy…"

He furrowed his brow, "Yes…but I wasn't expecting anyone to try to kill you. I've never imagined that anyone wouldn't like you…"

"Welcome to Oz," Elphaba's words dripped with sarcasm, "I told you this would get messy."

Bert looked up at her, "I don't know that this is worth it, if people are going to be threatening the two of you…"

Elphaba set her jaw in firm resolve, "This is a fight for freedom, Bert. Freedom is not easily won."

"Yes, but you promised not to put Mary on a battlefield," he said softly.

Elphaba cocked her head, "Mary is much stronger than you think, and much more powerful. And we came out of this, didn't we?"

Bert looked back at Mary, clearly still upset for her.

Mary sat there, lost in thought. As she tried to stop her trembling, tried to return to the state of calm determination she usually functioned in, she thought about what had happened. She had been terrified, and she was more than uncomfortable with everything that had transpired. It felt unnatural to her, and a part of her wanted to run away. She wanted to deny it all and disappear. She wanted to push Bert away so that he wouldn't see her struggling and weak. And yet, deep down, she couldn't deny the rush she'd felt. She couldn't ignore that it had felt good, to stand up for what was right. So Mary was silent, and Bert left his hand on her back, soothing her.

* * *

The following morning, after a restless night, they woke to find a note slipped under the door of their room. Elphaba found it, because she was up at dawn. Bert and Mary rose shortly after, finding it hard to sleep in the hard beds, or on the floor, in Bert's case. Mary also refused to undress, so they were all sleeping in their clothes. Weary and more than a little afraid, they watched as Elphaba read the note.

Unfolding the parchment, Elphaba scanned the words:

_Meet in the park at noon. _

_G._

It had to be from Glinda, Elphaba decided. It only made sense. And she was certain that her friend would be risking a lot by meeting with them. Shell must certainly be working on an edict for their arrest by now. It would be dangerous to be out in the streets, but Elphaba would not stand Glinda up. She would not have her friend take a risk unnecessarily.

So Elphaba cast the note into the small fireplace, destroying the evidence, and said, "Let's get ourselves together. We have somewhere to be at noon."

Neither Bert nor Mary argued.

A few hours later, they were standing in the park a few blocks from the palace. Both Elphaba and Mary were swathed in scarves and long coats. Having left her hat and cloak at the palace, Elphaba had on her one other winter coat, with a heavy scarf around her head. Mary was clothed in her black coat, with another one of Elphaba's scarves covering her head. They both felt the need to be disguised, today.

After a few minutes, Glinda approached from the far side of the park. She was dressed down today, in a non-descript, blue suit dress. Her jacket was buttoned up, her hair upswept. Even her shoes were lower-heeled, for walking. She approached them calmly, and spoke immediately.

"I have a few things to tell you, but I'm going to say them quickly, lest I jeopardize my position in the palace by being here too long. I need to keep the position, because it's the only way I can help anyone, right now," she paused, "Shell is a wildly emotional, immature leader who uses religion to force the hand of people who otherwise would never respect him. He doesn't deserve the throne, but after the wizard, the people are wary of magic. They see him as a way to get back to some sort of moral foundation. He wants to keep the people hating the Animals. If they keep blaming the Animals for Oz's problems, they can't blame him. However, he is a coward. If he was actually threatened, he would run. You could overthrow him easily. The real problem is, that won't change the people of Oz. Unless they see the Animals stand up for themselves, and unless they are given a leader who can distribute the resources evenly, they will overthrow you. They will continue to kill and persecute the Animals. If you want to change this, convince the rest of Oz to support the Animals. Then, they can take the city and overpower the wealthy minority in this place who keep forcing their own agenda, including the Gale Force," Glinda looked around then, her ice blue eyes wide with fear, "That's all I know. And I wish you the best."

Elphaba looked at her friend, grateful. She took Glinda's hands and said, "Try to calm Shell down. Convince him we've disappeared. And I'll come for you, before anything happens. I won't let you be harmed in this."

Glinda gave her a tiny smile, and then turned and fled.

Elphaba watched her until she was a speck of blue in the distance. Feeling an even greater sense of responsibility now, she stood very still for a few moments.

The feeling of a sudden, cool breeze on her face pulled her back into reality. Elphaba looked to Bert and Mary, trying to decide what to do next. They were very still for a few moments, thinking. Suddenly, the skies opened up and released a great torrent of rain. The clouds that had been threatening all morning succumbed, and they found themselves in the middle of a downpour.

Mary let out a frightened squeal, and wrapped her arms around herself instinctively. It took Elphaba another moment to respond, because her time in Kansas had made her forget her Ozian water allergy, somewhat. When the first drop stung her face, however, Elphaba reacted. Going with her first impulse, she ran. After a second, though, she realized that was futile. Turning around, she also realized that Mary was standing still, frozen in place. Bert looked dumbfounded. Rushing back, Elphaba took their hands and leapt them out of Oz, and therefore out of the rain. Then, she leapt them back to their rented room once again.

In the dry warmth of their room, Elphaba stripped off her wet coat. She knew that if she didn't act quickly, she would burn. She looked to Mary, expecting her to be doing the same thing. Mary stood still, though, staring at Bert.

Looking at him, Elphaba said, "Go outside, now. In the hall. Now!"

Bert, sensing she was more urgent than angry, complied.

When the door shut behind him, Elphaba crossed to Mary. She pulled off Mary's heavy coat and tossed it to the floor. Stripping off her own scarves, she said, "Come on, get this stuff off before you're burned badly."

Mary looked at her, horrified, as Elphaba continued to pull off her wet clothes. When she got down to just her undergarments, Elphaba kicked the wet things away from herself. Then, seeing that Mary hadn't moved, she reached out and started pulling the soggy clothes off of Mary.

Mary jumped backward and squealed, "I'll not have anyone undress me!"

"Mary!" Elphaba snapped, "We're both women. You're going to be seriously hurt. Take them off, now. We don't have time to go anywhere else, and there's no one here!"

Mary, clearly in pain, clenched her jaw. She crossed to the far wall and turned her back, since there wasn't so much as a closet in the small room. Then, she began to pull off her rain-drenched clothes. Satisfied, Elphaba turned her attention back to herself. Deciding that her undergarments were dry enough, she carefully picked up the wet clothes and hung them over a chair by the fireplace. Then, she stoked the fire. In the flickering light, she looked at her skin. Deciding she might only have a mild burn here and there, she was relieved.

When she turned back, Mary stood in just her brassiere and stockings. Taking a seat on the bed closest to her, Mary kept her back to Elphaba as she pulled off the damp stockings. Elphaba, having compassion for Mary's incredible modesty, went to her carpet bag and pulled out some dry clothes. Crossing the room, she stopped just beside the bed where Mary sat. Elphaba couldn't help reacting to what she saw.

Mary's arms and torso were covered in bruises. They were ugly, purplish-black marks that streaked and spotted her otherwise flawless skin. There was no particular pattern, but some of them followed the outline of a human hand, or fingers. It took Elphaba just a moment to realize why.

When Mary turned around to take the clothes, she saw Elphaba staring. Turning quickly back away, she said, "It will do us no good to dwell on this."

Elphaba hesitated, and then said, "They're from yesterday, aren't they? From where the guards held you?"

Mary didn't answer.

Elphaba tried again, "That's your difference, isn't it? From being born of two worlds? I'm green, and you…you have this. If someone touches you…it hurts you…"

Mary pulled on her clothes in silence.

Realization struck Elphaba, "Is that why…is that why you push Bert away? Is that why you have to be 'perfect' all the time?"

Mary finally met her eyes, and she straightened her clothes, "I won't discuss this, Miss Elphaba. You've seen too much as it is. Let's just get on with what has to be done."

Elphaba was still for a moment, and she felt a pang of sympathy for Mary. It must not be easy, to live with such a contradiction, to be wounded by one of the most basic of human needs, touch. It was quite sad, but she couldn't force sympathy on Mary. So Elphaba said no more. She pulled on fresh clothes and let Bert back into the room.

They all stood there for a moment, in silence. Then, Elphaba looked from Bert to Mary. Bert still looked worried and confused, and Mary was sitting very still on the bed, studying her hands. Elphaba tried to determine what to do next. A part of her wanted to take off to the Animal reservations and camps, and start putting together an army. She wanted to see the Animals overthrow Shell and take back the land that was just as much theirs as any one else's. However, she could tell that Mary was struggling. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she was trembling again. Her hair was disheveled from the rain, and Elphaba couldn't shake the memory of the horrible bruises. She understood, now, why Mary wasn't made for battle. She understood better why Mary shied away from conflict. Elphaba even felt a measure of compassion, because it would not be easy to go through life being so fragile.

Yet, Mary had not complained about the events that had transpired over the past two days. She had not, as Elphaba had expected, accused Elphaba of putting her in danger and decided to quit. Mary did seem terribly unsettled about what had happened, but she was staying the course. For that, Elphaba was grateful. So, because she was not nearly as hard as she used to be, Elphaba decided they should return to Kansas. They would take a few days and regroup, and decide how to proceed. Their mission was now clearly going to involve mutiny, and possibly warfare, and they needed time to prepare.

Turning to Mary, Elphaba said, "Let's go home for a bit. We need to work this out, and we're likely to be caught and tried for treason if we stay in the city."

Mary looked up just as Bert sat down on the bed across from her. Her eyes were both tired and grateful as she said, "I think that would help, yes…"

She put her hands to her collar then, realizing she'd forgotten to button it to her neck, as she usually did. When she went to fix it, both Elphaba and Bert caught a glimpse of the bruise at her throat. It was where the guard had pressed his hand, and the back of his blade, into her neck, Elphaba realized. She pretended she didn't see, since Mary obviously didn't want to discuss the issue, but Bert let out a little gasp.

"Mary!" he exclaimed, "what in the name of 'eaven?"

Flustered, she said, "It's nothing, Bert."

But he was at her side before she could button the shirt. Ignoring the fact that she rarely let him touch her, Bert tipped her chin back with one hand and looked at the discoloration at the base of her throat. He got perhaps a second to look before she jerked away from him. Standing up, she backed away while hastily buttoning her shirt.

"Don't touch me!" she choked out in a high, frightened voice.

Elphaba watched the exchange with new understanding. Bert, on the other hand, looked both confused and terribly hurt.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "But I won't be standing by and lettin' you get 'urt, Mary. I'll be going with you, next time, if that's what it takes…"

Mary was clearly still troubled, but she was also too tired to formulate an argument.

"It's just a bruise," Elphaba interjected, "from yesterday. And I guarantee you, Mary is entirely capable of defending herself. We all get hurt, now and then. Now, let's go home and try to figure this out."

Bert, somewhat appeased, nodded his agreement. Mary looked up at Elphaba and gave her a tiny, grateful smile. Then, they gathered their things, and leapt back to Kansas once again.


	13. Chapter 13

**Finally...here's more. Had a crazy couple of weeks. I'm really enjoying your reviews, though. Many thanks. :-)**

**Enjoy.**

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**Chapter 13**

Back in Kansas, Elphaba decided they could all use a little time to freshen up and gather their thoughts before they discussed what to do next. She needed to rethink their approach, now that she understood Oz's leadership. She also needed to process having seen Glinda, and what that could mean for them. She needed to carefully consider all of their options, so that they didn't end up getting themselves killed.

Neither Mary nor Bert complained. They were both glad to take the afternoon off. They had been going nonstop for more than two weeks now, and they were exhausted. Plus, they were all still shaken from what had transpired in the palace. So they greeted Mae wearily upon their return, and thanked her for her continued hospitality. Then, with her permission, they headed back to the rooms that were starting to feel like home.

Then, Elphaba headed back across the fields, and met Fiyero at the door to their house. He looked more than relieved to see her, and wrapped her in a long embrace. The house was quiet, because the children were doing their lessons with Trudy. However, little Molly came out from the study to greet Auntie Fae, as she called her.

"We missed you…" the ochre-skinned little girl said, her wide, dark eyes full of faithful devotion.

Elphaba felt a pang in her chest that was still surprising, for her. She was amazed, daily, at how the children wanted to be with her, even to hug her. She was ever-surprised at her capacity to love them. She was especially taken with little Molly, who had been deemed 'too dark-skinned' to ever be adopted out of the orphanage where she had been placed. She had been begging on the streets when Fiyero found her, at just three years old. Elphaba understood the rejection she must have felt. Elphaba, more than anyone, knew what it was like to be the wrong color, even to one's own family.

So she brushed Molly's wiry hair away from her face and said, "I've missed you all as well."

The little girl smiled a wide, toothy smile and went back to her lessons.

Elphaba continued on to her bedroom then, followed by Fiyero. Realizing she'd left her satchel in Mae's kitchen, she decided to go for it later. She carefully stood her broom in the corner. Only then did she realized that her hat was still in Oz. The guards had taken it in the palace the day before, and she and Mary had fled the throne room by way of magic. Now, her precious hat was in a closet somewhere in the Emerald City palace. It made Elphaba grit her teeth in anger.

Sensing something was wrong, Fiyero asked, "What is it?"

"In all the chaos, I've lost my hat…" Elphaba grumbled.

Fiyero smiled, "That would be the second time in your life…"

Elphaba was not amused, "That hat is terribly important."

Fiyero cocked his head, "Because it's useful, or because it makes you feel good?"

"Does it matter?" Elphaba snapped.

"I suppose not…"

Elphaba paced for a moment, saying, "I need it. I won't lose it again, not after searching all of Kiamo Ko, and having it survive the melting…"

"Where is it?" Fiyero asked.

Elphaba sighed, "In the palace. They took our things when they showed us into the throne room. And then…that went to hell. And they tried to kill us…"

"What?" Fiyero was suddenly upset.

Elphaba gave him a look, "Did you really think we would accomplish this without someone trying to kill us?"

"I'd hoped you might avoid it…"

"This is mutiny, Fiyero. This is rebellion against the Ozian government. We're trying to reverse genocide."

Fiyero crossed to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind, stopping her pacing, "And I thought I'd finally gotten you to settle down…"

She bristled, "You know very well that will never happen."

Fiyero gently turned her around so he could look in her eyes, "I know, Fae. I know what I promised. But I still fear for you."

Elphaba's expression softened, "I suppose that's all right…"

"We're not twenty-three anymore, Fae…" he mused.

She leaned into his chest, "I know…"

There was a quiet moment then, a comfortable moment. They just held each other, relishing the closeness, and the silence. After a time, Elphaba slid her arms up and around Fiyero's shoulders. She held onto him, with her face pressed into his neck. The scent of him was familiar, soothing, calming. Like a drug, he made her relax. He brought her back to reality and forced her to think before simply acting.

Realizing how much she'd missed him, Elphaba pulled away just far enough to kiss him. She melted into him, and felt the tension and uncertainty of the past few weeks fall away. It was just her and him, in their own little sanctuary, drawing strength from one another. So Elphaba let the cloak of revolution fall away, along with her clothes. She pulled Fiyero into their bed and made love to him, needing him. She needed the release, the chance to give and take pleasure freely. She needed the passion and the pause. She needed to remind him of how much she loved him, how much she missed him. And he filled her and made her stronger, which was their way. They spent the afternoon wrapped in each other, forgetting the world, forgetting all the terribly important things that were waiting for them. They let the chores and the revolution go, for a time, and spent the daylight. Then, they lay there, blue diamonds and green skin, cast in the warm glow of the fading, Kansas sun.

* * *

Bert, on the other hand, spent the afternoon alone. He went for a walk through the fields, enjoying the bright, if brisk, afternoon sun. He spent the time thinking about all he'd seen in the past few weeks. He considered how Mary's magical place had suddenly become so much more. He'd never imagined it was anything other than a fairytale land of talking animals and bright scenery. Had he not seen it himself, he never would have believed that such a beautiful place could have such a sad and troubled side. It was disturbing, in a way, to know that even fairytale lands were grounded in the reality of right and wrong. It was disheartening, knowing that selfishness and moral ambiguity perpetuated themselves in every world. Still, at least he would part of doing something about it. What his part would be, he wasn't sure, but he was determined to help.

Bert knew that he would never be what Elphaba and Mary were. He was no sorcerer or magician. He was at their mercy to even participate in this adventure. He didn't have much to offer, except possibly companionship and support. Still, he wanted to be a part. It felt good, to be making a difference. It was nice to get out of the routine of cleaning, scrubbing, and begging. And he had little to lose, really. So Bert was ready for whatever the next phase of this adventure would bring. He had always wanted to work side by side with Mary, to really be a part of her life. That life was turning out to be much more complicated than he'd ever imagined, but he was ready. He supported her, wholly, and he'd always promised to be there for her. Bert would keep that promise, no matter how bizarre or dangerous the journey became.

So, as he walked the path around the pond some distance from Mae's farmhouse, he tried to think of ways he could help. He tried to figure out how to make himself more useful. He tried to decide what lengths he would go to, what he would be willing to do for Elphaba and Mary's cause. He tried to prepare himself for whatever might come, and he tried to summon up courage. Given the events of the previous day, he felt certain he would need it. He might not have special powers. He might not be a great sorcerer or a child of both worlds, but he was strong and determined. He believed in sacrificing for what was right, and he believed in hard work. And Bert refused to let Mary be harmed, no matter what he had to do. He would fight for the cause she'd decided to take on, and he would fight for her, if he had to.

_I'll stand between her and the sword, next time,_ he told himself.

And for all the things Bert didn't know, of that, he was certain.

* * *

Lying in Fiyero's arms, Elphaba couldn't stop thinking about her hat. It was terrible, she knew, to be so focused on something so trivial, especially while in the arms of the husband who adored her. Still, it bothered her. She loved that hat. It was so very much of a part of her. She'd found it during a very tumultuous time in her life, and it represented so many things. It both disguised her and made a statement. It was ugly and striking at the same time. It had become a sort-of icon, a way people had started to recognize her. She was the Wicked Witch in 'that crazy hat'. It was part of her silhouette, and she wanted it back. Eventually, when she stormed the Emerald City, leading a rebellion, she wanted to be wearing her hat.

So Elphaba turned to Fiyero, who was drowsing in the fading sunlight, and whispered, "Don't be angry…"

"At what?" Fiyero whispered back.

She kissed his cheek, "I'm going after my hat."

Fiyero was now wide-eyed, "The hat you left in the palace? Where they tried to kill you?"

"Yes," Elphaba stated.

"Fae…" he said warily.

She raised an eyebrow, "Do you think you'll be stopping me?"

Fiyero reached out and brushed her hair back from her face, a gesture he reserved for when he was feeling the most tender, the most vulnerable, and said, "No…but I think it's a risk you don't have to take. And you know I fear for you."

Elphaba smirked, "You forget…I am now one of the most powerful sorceresses in Oz. I can leap between worlds."

Fiyero kissed her softly, "And yet…you're in my bed…"

She gently returned the kiss, and then slid from the bed to pull on her clothes, "Not anymore."

Fiyero just watched as she hastily dressed herself, and then pulled on her boots. He said nothing, but she knew what his eyes were saying.

_Be careful. I love you._

She leaned over the bed and kissed him, long and tenderly. Then, she disappeared into Oz.

Focusing on her hat, Elphaba opened her eyes and found herself in one of the dark corridors of the palace in the Emerald City. With her heart pounding in her ears, Elphaba looked around and listened for signs of movement. Hearing nothing, she was once again grateful that Shell has so isolated himself from the citizens of Oz. It meant the palace had very little staff.

Calming a little, she considered the hallway where she stood. Her hat must be nearby, she decided, since her powers had brought her here. Quietly opening doors, Elphaba checked each room until she found what must be a coat closet. She'd never imagined the grand and glorious palace had such a common room, but here it was. It was mostly empty, since there clearly weren't many guests. There was a dusty fedora on one of the shelves, and a cloak with moth holes hanging on a rod. There were some boots and a few rusting umbrellas. Then, she spotted her hat, in the corner. It was on a shelf, clearly forgotten. Obviously, getting rid of her things had not been high on the palace staff's priority list. Elphaba crossed the darkened room and seized it, relieved. Then, she saw Mary's coat.

It was hanging behind the dark, moth-eaten cloak, looking an even brighter red in the dreary space. Elphaba hesitated, not sure what she wanted to do. She'd spent so much time telling Mary how unnecessary her coat was. It made them stand out terribly. It drew so much attention to Mary, and how striking she was. It was the opposite of covert. It would be nearly impossible to blend into a crowd with Mary in that coat. And yet, Mary loved it. Elphaba knew that the coat most likely meant as much to Mary as her hat meant to her. She also felt that their reasons might be more similar than she wanted to admit. Elphaba knew, if begrudgingly, that it was somewhat shallow to feel defined by her hat. Still, it made her feel good. Mary's coat was no different.

Elphaba stood there for a long moment, holding her hat and studying Mary's coat. She reached out and touched the soft fabric, noticing that it was lined with an equally bright, cherry-red satin lining. It was well-made, and must have either been terribly expensive, or was tediously made by someone who cared enough about Mary to tailor it for her. The collar and pockets were lined in heavy, black edging that stood in sharp contrast to the bright fabric. It was a coat for a woman in high standing, who knew she looked good in it. It was a coat that demanded confidence, and couldn't be worn by someone who was unsure of their position, or who hoped to be overlooked.

_It is just right, for her…_Elphaba realized, somewhat begrudgingly.

And she couldn't deny Mary of something that meant so much to her. Elphaba knew she didn't have that right, and she wasn't that hypocritical. So, after taking a long, deep breath, Elphaba took the coat as well. Then, she leapt herself back to Kansas again.

Appearing in the yard just beyond Mae's house, Elphaba crossed the scrubby expanse of grass and climbed Mae's porch steps. Not seeing anyone around, she went into the house. The kitchen and living room were empty and silent, and she wondered where everyone might be. Now that she'd retreived their things, she'd hoped to find Mary, so that they could start working on their next course of action.

Still holding Mary's coat, Elphaba's eyes fell on the wardrobe in the far corner of Mae's living room. Mae kept winter coats, scarves, and boots in it, in lieu of a coat closet. Staring at it, an idea formed in Elphaba's head. Crossing to the wardrobe, she opened one of the doors and hung Mary's coat inside.

_This_, she thought, _might be a good compromise_.

She decided that if, perhaps, she didn't say anything about the coat, Mary might not ask about it. Elphaba couldn't bring herself to get rid of it and totally deprive Mary of something she loved, but if she could prevent Mary from wearing it during this critical time, it might help their cause. She knew it was a little hypocritical, to want to wear her strange pointed hat so badly, and yet deny Mary something she loved. Still, they just needed to blend in, to be able to hide, to disappear in the dark of night, if necessary. And she would give the coat back, Elphaba told herself, when it was all said and done.

Satisfied, she closed the wardrobe door carefully. Then, after searching the house over for Mary, Elphaba gave up and went back out onto the porch. Taking a seat in one of the rocking chairs, she watched the ebbing sunlight and let her thoughts wander. This was one of her favorite places to sit and think. This was the place where she'd come to fully appreciate the experience of watching the sun rise and set over the plains. She'd pondered both great and small things, here. She'd yearned for Fiyero on this porch. She'd both argued and made up with Tessy. She'd gotten to know Mae and debated the universe with Adrian. She'd found herself, in a way, on this porch.

So Elphaba sat there, thinking, until Mae came in from the barn. She'd been tending the animals, and Tessy was with her. Tessy looked weary, with one hand on her rounding stomach. Mae took Tessy's other elbow to help her, as Elphaba watched them approach. When they reached the porch, they both sat down to rest.

After a few minutes, Mae said, "So, I understand your time in Oz was quite eventful, this time?"

Elphaba raised an eyebrow, "The news traveled quickly…"

"Well, Fiyero was helping me in the barn just now, and Bert would only say you'd had an 'eventful' time…" Mae answered.

Elphaba sighed, "I guess it was…but I think it's to be expected."

Mae watched her for a moment, "You won't rest until you've done something about this, will you? This is your lifelong mission, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is," Elphaba answered softly.

Tessy spoke up then, "I think it's significant, what you're doing. And I know it isn't easy. Just look at how long it took people in this country to stand up against slavery. And look at how things are still so unequal…"

Elphaba nodded, understanding, and then said, "And this fight isn't going to be any easier. I think…it's going to come down to war. The Animals are going to have to stand up and fight for themselves. That's the only way. And I'm afraid…it's going to be bloody…"

Mae bristled, and her eyes were concerned, "And it will be you and Mary, leading this war?"

Elphaba considered, "I suppose that's up to the Animals. We need to help them. They need our powers. But they're going to have to rise up on their own. No one else can demand their rights but them. It won't happen any other way. The Resistance tried to fight for them, but it wasn't enough."

"And you think Mary is strong enough to incite something like that? To lead that type of rebellion? Do you really think she's the type…to go to war?" Mae asked.

Elphaba looked away for a moment, and then said, "I don't know. She's often a mystery to me. Sometimes, she seems as hard as nails…and others…" she trailed off, not wanting to reveal Mary's weaknesses.

"Do you think she'll see this through?" Tessy asked carefully.

Elphaba struggled, "I hope so. She gave her word, and she's yet to run back to London in fear. And she did stand up for me. She risked her own life. Still, she's frustrating…because she's such a closed book. I never know what she's thinking, or what really motivates her…"

Tessy's mouth curved in a knowing smile, "That sounds familiar."

"Why?" Elphaba was quick to ask.

"I thought the same thing about you, Elphie," Tessy answered with a laugh, "I think the two of you are a lot more alike than either of you will admit."

Elphaba snorted, "As far as I can tell…it's only the magic we have in common."

It was Mae's turn to chuckle, "I'd have to agree with Tessy. I'll admit, Mary's pomp and circumstance seem like your opposite at first, but there's something in her eyes that reminds me of you…"

Elphaba was taken aback, "Truly? Surely you don't think we're related as well…"

Mae shook her head, "No, that's not how I meant it. There's something, though. She reminds me of the way you used to be so distant. Sometimes, when she thinks no one is looking, she looks…lost."

Elphaba wanted to argue that she'd never looked lost, herself, but she knew Mae wouldn't let her get away with it. She was also impressed, as always, with how intuitive Mae could be. All Elphaba said aloud, however, was, "Maybe…"

Just then, they caught sight of Bert coming towards the house from the pond. Several of the children were following him, laughing and pleading with him. What they'd been doing was unclear, but the children were obviously enjoying it. As they watched, he lifted little Molly up onto his shoulders and skipped her across the yard towards the house.

When they got within earshot, Elphaba could hear the children saying, "Please Mister Bert! Please do some more!"

When they got within a few feet of the porch, Bert put Molly down. She came running to Elphaba. Nearly dragging her from the chair and into the yard, the little girl said, "Mister Bert has been showing us magic!"

Elphaba cocked her head and looked at him.

Bert smiled his contagious smile, "Just some card tricks…closest thing to magic I know," he held out a worn deck of cards.

"And," Molly went on, "he pulled a quarter out of Isaiah's ear!"

Bert chuckled, "Aye…it's not a quarter, though. It's a shilling," he pulled the coin from his pocket and showed it to the children.

They gathered around and studied the unusual, foreign coin. Then, little Molly begged, "Please Mister Bert? Do another trick!"

Giving in with a smile, Bert pulled out the cards again. Elphaba watched as he went through a very dramatic production of having the children select a card and show it only to each other. Then, he proceeded to produce their cards from his pocket, his shoe, and even his hat. He put on quite a good show, and the children loved it. Elphaba smiled in spite of herself. She had to admit, Bert was quite magnetic, when he wanted to be. She wasn't surprised that he'd managed to survive on his own on the streets for so long. He had a very genuine charisma, and an honest smile. He was incredibly kind, entirely grounded, and yet he wasn't afraid to look silly. It was interesting, Elphaba noted, that such a very average, working-class man, who relied on his charm to earn a shilling, was whom Mary had chosen as her best friend. She wondered if there might be a reason, but then decided not to dwell on it for the moment.

When he'd finally convinced the children that the card tricks were over for the evening, Bert left them to draw pictures in the dust with sticks. As they created, and then brushed away, their artwork, he climbed the steps to where Elphaba, Mae, and Tessy were sitting.

"You're quite the entertainer," Mae noted with a smile.

Bert shrugged, "Learned the card tricks when I was younger, working as a paperboy. It used to sell the papers much faster than I could."

"Perhaps you should've been a performer," Elphaba suggested with wry smile.

"I don't 'ave the discipline," Bert answered with a chuckle, "but I 'ave fancied myself an artist a few times…"

"Really?" Mae spoke up, curious.

Bert nodded, "It's what I do when things are especially slim, financially speaking…"

"And what do you paint?" Mae asked.

"I don't paint," Bert reached into his pocket and produced a worn, folded piece of paper, "I draw."

He handed the picture to Mae, somewhat sheepishly. She unfolded it and studied the portrait, which was done in charcoal and artist's crayons. After a moment, Elphaba looked over as well. The portrait was of Mary, which wasn't surprising. He'd caught her staring thoughtfully into the distance, as though she were looking beyond the borders of the world itself. And then, Elphaba saw it, too. She realized what Mae had meant. Bert had captured Mary in a very solitary moment, and she did, in fact, look somewhat lost. Elphaba held her tongue, though, because she was afraid that by admitting to that much, she might be forced to recount her own troubled past. As kind as Bert might be, she wasn't ready to share all of those details with him.

Mae spoke up first, saying, "That's lovely, Bert. You really are quite the artist."

Elphaba nodded her silent agreement, and then asked, "Speaking of Mary, where is she?"

The looked around at each other for a moment, until it was clear that none of them had any information.

"I suppose she'll be back for dinner?" Mae questioned.

Bert smiled as he folded his picture and put it back in his pocket, "If I know Mary, she's not anywhere we could find 'er, right now. But she'll be back. She would've told us if she was gone for good."

Elphaba raised an eyebrow, "I'm sure I could find her."

Bert laughed, "That just might be true. But you'd be the only one."

"Do you think she's in Oz?" Elphaba was suddenly cautious.

"No," Bert answered, "I think she's…out of our reach…"

He looked toward the sky then, and Elphaba understood what he meant. They all looked toward the clouds for a moment, which were streaked with the reds and purples of sunset.

"That's where she goes to think, when she doesn't want anyone to find 'er," Bert said softly, "She told me that…once."

Elphaba kept looking at the clouds, and smiled, understanding completely.

* * *

Mary did, in fact, return for dinner that evening. Elphaba found her in Mae's kitchen, after she'd helped Fiyero and Trudy through dinner at their own house. She couldn't help noticing that Mary was more subdued than usual. She seemed distracted, and she let Dorothy get away with propping her elbows up on the table while they had dessert. Mary refused any pie for herself, and stared into space over her tea while the others ate.

Elphaba sat and had some tea herself, and watched Mary. She'd hoped they might finally talk about their plans in Oz tonight, but she also wondered what was going on inside Mary's perfectly coiffed head. So she waited for the meal to be over, and then helped clear the dishes. Elphaba was still stacking plates when Mary disappeared outside to the porch. Sensing an opportunity, Elphaba dried the last dish and hesitantly made her way outside as well. She moved slowly and quietly, not wanting Mary to be put off by being followed.

It was chillier outside now than when she'd walked over, and Elphaba was glad to be wearing a high-necked, heavier dress. She found Mary sitting on the porch steps, staring at the stars. Elphaba smirked a little to herself, because even in this solitary moment, Mary sat as straight as always, with her chin towards the sky. Very quietly, Elphaba crossed the porch and sat down on the steps as well. She didn't say anything for some time.

Finally, to break the silence, Elphaba said, "There's something about the sky, isn't there? Something that you can't explain, to people who've never flown…"

Mary dipped her chin in acknowledgement, but still said nothing.

Elphaba studied the stars for another moment, and then gradually let her gaze fall back on Mary. She was wearing a pale blue shirtwaist tonight, with a delicate broach at her neck. Her skirt was heavy and dark, as a shield against the winter chill. Her boots were polished, as always. Still, she seemed a bit off, Elphaba thought. After another moment, Mary wrapped her arms around herself, shivering against the cold.

A bit hesitantly, Mary said, "I'm afraid I've left my coat in Oz…at the palace…"

Elphaba swallowed hard over things she knew she should say, and asked, "Don't you have another one? The black one?"

"Yes," Mary answered, finally looking at Elphaba, "I have a few, but…they're not the same."

"How so?" Elphaba asked in return.

Mary looked away again, "It's quite silly of me, really, to let it matter so much. It's on the verge of sentimental…"

Elphaba just listened, expectantly.

"I made that coat," Mary stood and walked a few paces away as she continued, "by hand. I had to learn to sew, in finishing school. It was required, and I struggled so with it. It was one of the few things that gave me trouble, in school. My hands looked like I'd been to war…from the pins…" Mary looked at the sky, "but when I finished it…I was quite proud. And…it makes me feel…" she struggled with the words.

"Safe?" Elphaba finally interjected.

Mary turned to meet Elphaba's eyes, and her expression was softer than usual, "Perhaps…"

Elphaba sat there for a moment, warring with herself. The practical side of her wanted to keep the coat hidden. It was still, after all, incredibly conspicuous. And Mary was always arguing against sentimentality. She would certainly find a way to get on without it. However, after a moment, compassion won out. With a sigh, Elphaba stood up and crossed back through the door into the kitchen. She went to the wardrobe in the living area and produced Mary's coat from its depths. Then, she returned to the porch. Mary still stood just beyond the steps, stoically, with her back towards Elphaba.

Crossing to where Mary stood, Elphaba unfolded the rich, red fabric of the coat. Placing it over Mary's shoulders, she stated, "I went back for my hat, and I found this. Maybe I should've left it, because it draws entirely too much attention to us…but I couldn't…seeing how I risked a lot to go after something as trivial as a hat…"

Mary startled just a little, and she met Elphaba's eyes. For just the briefest second, there was a flicker of understanding. Then, after another moment, Mary slid her arms into the sleeves and fastened the coat around her waist. Elphaba stepped back, uncertain. However, even with just a view of the back of her glossy, brunette head, she could see a change in Mary's demeanor. She shifted her shoulders back, her confidence renewed. Then, for the next few minutes, Mary simply stared at the stars. Elphaba sat back down on the steps, wondering whether she should go back into the house. She wasn't exactly sure how to begin a conversation, and Mary was not one to expound upon her inner thoughts.

Then, very softly, Mary said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Elphaba returned quietly.

After another minute, and to Elphaba's continued surprise, Mary said, "I've never met anyone quite like you, Miss Elphaba."

Elphaba laughed wryly, "You aren't the first to make that statement."

Mary still looked away as she answered, "I don't mean it the same way as all the others, though…I don't think. You are the first person who's ever seen right through me," she hesitated, "I've always been able to convince everyone that my magic was just an illusion, something they imagined. They all see me as some sort of mythical figure, or fantasy character. Not just the children, the adults as well. I've always managed to dodge all their questions and remain...apart. You're the first person who's ever made me admit my…reality."

Elphaba considered that for a moment, "Well, we both have quite an unusual reality. I suppose I'm one of the only people who would understand. And Bert, I guess…"

Mary looked over her shoulder at Elphaba for a moment, "Even Bert doesn't call me out the way you do. I think he believed I was the queen of a magical, fairyland…until recently."

"Well," Elphaba stated, "I think it's good that you've seen the real Oz. Oz is a wonderful place, in some ways, but it needs help, as well."

Mary smiled and looked away again, "Yes, it does. But I've known for some time that Oz isn't…perfect."

Elphaba cocked her head, thinking. Making a realization, she said, "And neither are you. I bother you because I see the reality of who you are. You're just a person, like me. A different sort of person, with special abilities, but mortal nonetheless."

Mary didn't answer right away. When she finally spoke, she was quiet and hesitant, "You should know, Miss Elphaba, that I wasn't raised in Oz. I wasn't lying when I said I knew very little about Oz. In spite of what you might think, in spite of your assumptions, I was born and raised in London."

Elphaba said simply, "All right…"

Mary continued, "I won't deny I have a connection to Oz. You've proven that…but I first found myself there quite by accident. I was perhaps six years old, and I was simply daydreaming of a better place, a magical place, while sitting in the courtyard. When I opened my eyes and found myself in Oz, I was quite terrified. It was a marvel that I ever got back to London at all that day…"

Elphaba sat very still, afraid to say too much and ruin Mary's rare moment of introspection, "I suppose Oz can be a little scary…" Elphaba said very softly.

"I sometimes wonder how I had the ability, or the belief, in magic to get there at all. Contrary to what everyone knows of me, to what the children see in me, I wasn't raised to believe in such fairy tales," Mary went on, her back still turned to Elphaba.

There was another pause, as though Mary was struggling with how much to say. Then, she took a slow breath and started again, "I did not have a sweet and perfect start in life. I was left on the steps of St. Paul's when I was just an few days old. There was a note stuck in the cloth I was wrapped in. It said, 'Here is my child. Name her, raise her if you like, or cast her ashes on the wind, because that's where she belongs'…"

There was a pause, and Elphaba, who wasn't much for simpering, said carefully, "Perhaps that's not so bad, to belong to the wind…"

Mary shifted her posture slightly, as though she hadn't expected such an answer, and then went on, "I was raised by one of the nuns, Sister Amelia, who was in charge of the group of orphaned girls the church had taken in. There were six of us, all about the same age, without parents for various reasons. She named me Mary Poppins. A 'good Christian name', as she said, 'with a jolly ring to it. Perfect for a little lady'. And Sister Amelia demanded perfection. Our beds were perfectly made and our clothes were perfectly pressed. Our stockings were pristine, our shoes polished, and our hair always perfectly plaited. Perfection was not a goal to be chased, but it was the present, the expected, for us. Sister Amelia told us we should never allow our flawed beginnings to affect our future as perfect young ladies. We all worked hard to meet her expectations…but I was somehow always a step above the rest. I was her 'most perfect young charge', and she fawned over me…"

Elphaba rolled her eyes, but kept quiet, trying to understand that Mary wasn't bothered by her own vanity. To her, she was simply stating a fact, when she called herself perfect. As Mary talked, Elphaba also noticed that she stayed completely calm, even though the story was one that should be rife with emotion.

Mary continued to explain, "I was Sister Amelia's 'most perfect child'. While the others strived for perfection, she used me as an example of its achievement. She called me 'lovely', and 'exquisitely formed'. She coined, for me, the phrase, 'practically perfect in every way'. I was like her trophy, or a treasure she'd unearthed. I was polite, disciplined, intelligent, well-groomed, and naturally graceful. Sister Amelia would also have me sing for the Sunday mass, and it puffed her up with pride when the parishioners called me 'a little lark'. And then, as I got older, the boys would try to hold my hand in the churchyard after services. It became obvious that I was more than just pretty. I was _wanted_. Sister Amelia determined, then, that I would not only become a well-groomed young lady, but I would rival the wealthy girls seeking the hands of upper class lads. She purposed to send me to secondary school, and then college. She wanted me schooled not just in manners, but etiquette, entertaining, and dance. I believe it was a challenge, for her, to see if one of her orphans could win the hand of a baron, or the like. I think she had some regrets herself, about becoming a nun. I think she saw me as a way to live out the life she wanted, or perhaps to feed her ego, when the suitors came calling on her favorite charge…"

Elphaba snorted, and couldn't help saying, "What a noble ambition."

Mary gave a dainty sniff, and shifted her shoulders, "Marriage is noble, Miss Elphaba. Just because you are unconventional does not mean the convention is wrong."

Taken aback, Elphaba could find no argument.

"I was everything Sister Amelia wanted," Mary kept on, "except for my tendency to wander and daydream. And then, of course, there were the trips to Oz. I think they were born out of loneliness, because perfection is solitary. I intimidated the other girls, understandably. They didn't appreciate the special treatment I received. They didn't want to stand next to me, and be compared. Left alone in the courtyards of the church so often, I lost myself in a world of fantasy. So I thought I'd invented my magical place, at first. As I got older, however, I determined I was, in fact, visiting a real place. I would ride the Horses and talk with the Animals. I would climb the trees and eat the unusual fruit. And then, one afternoon when I was about eight…"

Mary paused then, and looked at her hands. For a flicker of a moment, Elphaba saw a struggle. Then, Mary took a breath and continued.

"I was running through a clearing in Oz, chasing rainbows, when a storm kicked up. It was sudden and ferocious, and I ran for the only tree nearby. I planned to take shelter under the branches. I remember, I wrapped my shawl around my head…but as I was running, it seemed the rain was lashing awfully hard. And then, when I reached the tree, I realized why it felt like lashing. The water was burning me…I had no idea I couldn't touch the water, until that day…"

There was another pause, and Elphaba said carefully, "I know that feeling…"

Mary went on, "Sister Amelia found me on the church steps some time later, when I had the presence of mind to get myself back to London. Everyone assumed I'd been doused in some chemical, perhaps from the garment factory several blocks over…"

"It could've killed you," Elphaba said softly.

"It wasn't that severe," Mary explained, "the church doctor looked me over and prescribed ointment and rest. However, a day so later…" she struggled, "Sister Amelia gave me the one and only lashing I've ever had. She decided I should be punished, since she assumed I'd run off from the safety of the church. I'd never done anything to cross her before then, and I'll admit, she didn't paddle all that hard. Still…"

Elphaba suddenly understood. She knew what must have happened after the paddling, "The bruises…" she said softly.

Mary nodded curtly, "I realized two things during those few days. My fantasy land was not a perfect place, and…"

"And you're easily wounded," Elphaba finished for her.

"Yes," Mary admitted with a heavy sigh, "So I avoid contact, mostly, and proper clothes keep the bruises covered. That's why I made the coat...to cover what no one should see..."

"I suppose I can understand that," Elphaba mused, "if you plan to stay covered in layers of clothes around everyone in your life…forever…"

Mary shifted a little, at the implication, but she didn't respond. Then she took a breath, "I suppose it was then that I realized that I will never entirely fit in. Not here, or in Oz. Even my fairy tale world has the power to reject me. I am not normal, in any world. I might be perfectly made, but that does not make me make sense. A beautiful anomaly is still an anomaly."

Elphaba cocked her head, but didn't answer.

Mary went on, quietly, "Perhaps I knew it then, that day, but as I got older, I realized I would not be marrying and raising perfect children. No matter how proper and poised Sister Amelia could make me, I would never find someone who wasn't a bit put off by me. There were too many questions about myself that couldn't be answered. I couldn't imagine sharing a life with someone, knowing they would never understand what I could do, or where I could go. I couldn't imagine someone seeing…what touch does to me. And then, if there were children…I was terrified of what might be wrong with them. So eventually, after years of schooling and many suitors, I struck out on my own. Sister Amelia was quite elderly by then, and she died shortly after I left. With little else to do, I explored the potency of my magic. It worked not just in Oz, but here as well. As I began to practice, I could do much more than just parlor tricks. And then I found that book, and the spell that allowed me to do almost anything. The spell that let me fly..."

Elphaba chuckled, "I know how that must have felt…"

Mary might've smiled, but Elphaba wasn't sure. Softly, Mary said, "Out on my own, I also discovered the only people in all the worlds who aren't cynical and wary of magic…"

"Who?"

"The children," Mary answered, "And they have been my life, since then. They are my mission. I aim to make a difference, for them, for the children after them. And then I'll go out of this world and leave only that legacy behind…perhaps with my ashes cast on the wind, like the note said…"

Elphaba hesitated, and then asked, "And why are you telling me all of this? Now?"

Mary turned and crossed back towards Elphaba then, finally meeting her eyes, "Do you know, Miss Elphaba, that I have never been without an umbrella since that day in Oz? As a child, I was suddenly terrified of the rain. It became second nature to have the umbrella. I even had one specially made by an Ozian craftsman in the village I visited. I've never forgotten it…until this morning. I was so caught up in what we had to do…that I left it behind…and got caught in the rain."

"I suppose I'm sorry for that," Elphaba offered.

"No," Mary's expression was somewhere between confused and afraid as she admitted, "I'm not upset. It's simply that…you bring out things in me I didn't know were there…and it's unsettling."

Elphaba held her gaze, "Maybe it's time you were unsettled."

Mary turned away then, "No. I think I prefer my life the way it was."

Mary started back towards the kitchen door then, but Elphaba stopped her. Very carefully, she asked, "I can understand what you choose to do with your life, I suppose. I can certainly understand not fitting in with society. I believe you're probably right about most suitors…none of the horribly normal people would accept you, wholly. And I can understand…your weakness. I understand the hardship of being different. But…I don't understand Bert. He's seen what you can do. He knows you better than anyone. And he obviously adores you. I don't think anything would turn him away from you. So why do you tease him? Why do you keep him at a distance?"

Mary stopped just shy of the door. Again not facing Elphaba, she answered, "Bert has me on an awfully high, gilded pedestal, Miss Elphaba. You see, it's a bit of a double-edged sword. Just as I would terrify or overwhelm most normal suitors, I'm afraid I would only disappoint dear Bert. I am too much for all the others, but I could never be all that Bert thinks I am. The illusion would fade…and all he would see are the imperfections…"

"Fiyero has seen my scars," Elphaba stated rather boldly.

"And I can appreciate that kind of brutal intimacy, I suppose," Mary said, "but I don't want to ruin Bert's fantasy. The children need to believe in magic, and Bert needs to believe in my perfection, because…that's how I want him to love me."

Elphaba furrowed her brow at the rather twisted logic, and then realization struck her, "So, you do love him, then. That _is_ his advantage. You love him, but you want him to stay in love with a fantasy…"

Mary gave a quick nod, and then started towards the door again in silence.

"Don't you think that's a bit selfish?" Elphaba threw out.

Mary turned for just a moment, "No…I don't. I think it's quite generous. Bert gets the best of me…the 'practically perfect' me. And that's really the best I could hope for, to be adored from a distance. It's far less complicated. And it's the way it should be…"

"No," Elphaba argued, "it isn't. And you know it."

Mary hesitated.

"Like you said," Elphaba continued, "I see through you."

Mary strode inside then, as though going to bed was a terribly important engagement. Elphaba watched through the window as she proudly climbed the stairs in her prized coat. Then, Elphaba realized she hadn't once broached the subject of their mission in Oz, which had been the reason she'd followed Mary outside.

_Tomorrow, then_, Elphaba said to herself with a sigh, and then she smiled in spite of herself.

For that evening, and entirely in spite of themselves, she and Mary had allowed sentimentality to cloud their thinking.


	14. Chapter 14

**So...in an interview once, Julie Andrews was asked if she thought Bert and Mary ever got together. Her answer was, "I'd like to think so, but she (Mary) never would've admitted it."**

**Hmmm... enjoy. :-)**

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**Chapter 14**

The following two days passed rather quickly, as they had much planning to do. Most of their clothes needed washing and drying, and they needed to pack supplies to keep them from having to leap between worlds so often. They were somewhat in disagreement, however, as to what was essential to their journey. They'd each packed very differently, and not always with their survival mind. Elphaba, of course, had books, maps, tools, medicines, and all measure of other heavy and fragile items. Mary had a carpet bag filled with clothes, and Bert had a satchel full of paper and charcoals, along with a change of clothes.

Meeting on the afternoon of the second day, they inevitably came to squabbling over the packing. Their various bags were scattered across Mary's bedroom, where they were trying to organize themselves.

"Really?" Elphaba argued, looking through Mary's things, "You need _accessories_?"

"I'll not travel without a hat…it's just not proper," Mary sniffed.

Elphaba snorted, "And, as you can see, my primary concern is always what's 'proper'."

The sarcasm was not lost on Mary, who said, "I believe you are quite attached to a certain hat of your own…"

Elphaba crossed her arms in defiance, "True, but it's on my head, not taking up space we need!"

"And you're planning to wear what you have on right now for the entirety of this trip? Because it seems you haven't packed any _clothes_!" Mary shot back.

"That's _all_ you have!" Elphaba returned.

Bert stood to the side, watching them with an amused grin.

"Oh for pity's sake!" Mary finally exclaimed.

She crossed the room and opened the one closet. From the top shelf, she fished out another bag, which had been sitting and gathering dust. Brushing it off and fanning away the cloud of debris, Mary inspected it.

"I suppose no one will miss this?" she asked rhetorically.

Elphaba and Bert watched as she set the bag on the bureau at the end of her bed. Raising her arms, Mary began to chant a spell she'd obviously memorized. It was very quiet as the poetic words rolled off her tongue. Then, she opened her eyes with a flourish.

"Here," she presented the bag to Elphaba, "put whatever you like in there. If all you want is books and bottles, so be it."

Elphaba looked down into the depths of the worn bag, and noticed it now seemed to have no bottom. Hesitantly, she took a few of her books and placed them inside. They disappeared into the dark depths.

"Now what?" she asked skeptically.

"Think of what you want, and reach for it," Mary snapped.

Elphaba obeyed, and produced the book she was hoping for.

"It's quite a useful spell, really…the bag that holds everything. And it won't weigh any more than the bag itself. Another distinct advantage," Mary added.

Elphaba finally had no argument, and Bert just laughed at the two of them.

In spite of their differences, by sunset, they had provisions packed, maps drawn, and were ready to leave just after breakfast the next morning. After the packing, they'd spent some time planning the first leg of their mission. It would be long and tiring, since they had to enlist Animals from all the corners of Oz to form a decent army. They would even need to beg the help of some of the outcast Vinkun and Quadling settlements. There would be power only in numbers for this cause, and anyone who had a reason to be unhappy with the Ozian government was on their list of enlistees. They knew it would not be easy convincing victims to go to war, but it was necessary. It was the only way. So they mapped out their proposed route, and then agreed they needed a good night's sleep before they left.

Standing in the living room after Bert had gone up to bed, Elphaba bade Mae, Tessy, and Mary goodnight before heading to her own house to spend the night with Fiyero. To Tessy, she made no secret of the fact that she always made love to him before leaving as though she might not be coming back. It was, perhaps, a leftover sentiment from their very uncertain time in the corn exchange. Having overheard Elphaba's comments, Mary blushed and turned away.

After Elphaba had left, and Tessy and Mae had gone up to bed, Mary wrapped her heavier, black coat around herself. She couldn't sleep just yet, because her mind was still spinning with all the planning and details. And, she was more than a little anxious about what lay before her. So she went out onto the porch, and then descended the steps and walked lazily in the moonlight for a few minutes. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she let herself float upwards to the roof. Settling herself rather precisely on the largest gable, she crossed her legs at the ankles and stared up at the stars.

This was her solace, she had to admit. She was most at peace amongst the stars, or at least nearer to them, and tonight she needed their calming effect. For a moment, she considered going higher, flying upward into the clouds until she was surrounded by starlight. Deciding to save her strength, she was still terribly unsettled in her spirit, and she was more than a little afraid of what lay before her. The mission she was about to embark on was outside the realm of anything she'd ever seen herself doing. Mary had always considered herself a peacemaker. The idea of inciting a war, even for a very just cause, terrified her. Yet, somehow, Elphaba had convinced her to be part of it.

_Elphaba…_

Mary thought to herself, tormented. She had never, in all her life, imagined meeting someone like Elphaba. She had stirred up Mary's life the way Mary usually stirred up others' lives. Elphaba had come raging into her life with chaos and passion, and a hardened determination that Mary could not argue against. She'd made Mary care about things in a different way. She made Mary want to act, rather than simply influence. And Mary was horribly conflicted about all of it. She was questioning her methodology, her beliefs, even her very purpose. She felt entirely off-center, and so Mary needed the stars, tonight.

Lost in her thoughts, Mary didn't hear Bert until he'd climbed out the nearest window and clamored up the roof to where she sat. Situating himself next to her, he watched the stars, as well. Mary couldn't help smiling a little, in spite of her somber mood, because only Bert would've known where to find her.

"They're clearer here, I think, than London. The stars, I mean," he said.

Mary nodded silently, and then very carefully said, "I have very often wondered…what would it be like, to drown in starlight?"

Bert looked at her strangely.

"I've often thought that might be a fitting end, for someone like me…" Mary continued.

Still looking troubled, Bert asked, "And 'ow does one drown in starlight?"

Mary looked upward, "Just keeping flying, until there's nothing but stars…the air gets too thin, and then…"

When she didn't finish, Bert said, "I've never 'eard you talk like that, Mary. That's terribly sad…"

Mary shook her head, "Yes, and I suppose it's much too sentimental, for me. Even negative sentiment is, after all, sentiment. I suppose I'm just worried about what we're getting ourselves into. I have to admit, I'd always hoped my end wouldn't come on a bloody battlefield…but then, if I die making a difference, perhaps it doesn't matter?"

Then, there was a long pause, and Bert just looked at her, concerned, "I wish you'd stop talking about dying Mary…"

She cocked her head, "I don't mean to upset you, Bert, but it is an inevitability. What matters is what we do…before then…" Mary let her words trail off, as though she was suddenly, very seriously, considering her own words.

After a long time, Bert very hesitantly asked, "Mary," he struggled, "In light of all we 'ave in front of us…I was wonderin'…if I could 'old your 'and…tonight? Just as your friend…as someone who cares. I don't want nothin' more. I give you my word, Mary…it just…seems like we could both use some encouragement…tonight."

She looked at him for a moment, searching.

"After all," he added, "you are my very best friend."

Mary turned away, and she could tell Bert was momentarily deflated. She knew she should say no. She knew she was opening up things she had very intentionally stayed away from. However, she couldn't make herself say no tonight. So Mary very slowly slid her left hand out of her lap and let her fingers delicately brush the roof tiles next to her. Bert, sensing what she was offering, laced his fingers very carefully through hers. Then, they sat there silently for some time, lost in thought again.

Eventually, Bert broke the silence by very softly singing, "When Mary 'olds your 'and, you feel so grand…your 'eart starts beatin' like a big, brass band…"

Mary looked down, and smiled slightly, "That silly old song…"

"It ain't silly, Mary. I mean it…but I mean it in the most proper of ways…"

"I appreciate that, Bert," she said softly, "And I believe you."

"And it ain't just sentiment. When I 'old your 'and…there's something…like I can feel your magic," he explained, "Makes a person feel warm…and good."

Mary looked at their fingers, entwined, and said, "I don't know about that, Bert…"

After another moment, he hesitantly started again, "You know, Mary…you've gotten to do so many things in this world, and now in another world. You can fly…you can go where you like, do what you will. I suppose I can understand why you'd never want to be tied down. I understand why getting married and settling down isn't for you. Things like that must seem awfully boring…for someone like yourself…"

Mary looked at him uncertainly for a moment.

"I imagine," Bert continued, "That you're one of those rare people who lives a life of no regrets. You seize life by the collar. You take it by the scruff…and you make no explanations," he paused, "And that's one of the things I love most about you."

Mary turned her face back up towards the sky. In that moment, for the first time, she wished fervently that what he'd said was true. She wished she could be all the things Bert believed she was. She said nothing, though, and instead lost herself in her tumultuous thoughts. Without realizing it, Mary absentmindedly pulled Bert's hand into her lap. After some time, realizing how close they now were, she very hesitantly leaned against him, so that her head was resting against his shoulder.

Without demanding explanation or pressing his advantage, Bert very softly sang, "No wonder that it's Mary that we love…"

And for one of the rare times in her life, the force that was Mary Poppins felt safe.

* * *

Later that night, when the moon had been covered by thick clouds that hinted at snow, Bert tossed in his bed. He wasn't sure if it was being in such a strange place, or his anticipation of the day to come, but something pulled him awake in the wee hours. Rubbing his eyes and trying to focus in the thick darkness, he sensed movement near the bed. Startling, he tried to focus on what might be a figure to his left. Still not fully awake, he heard only the soft swish of cascading fabric. Then, to his absolute surprise, he realized someone had slid into the bed next to him.

Totally unsure of what to do, Bert wondered if one of the farmhands had gone crazy in the night, or if perhaps Dorothy had had a nightmare and mistook his room for her Aunt's. Dorothy's room, however, was on the floor below this. Taking a deep breath, he turned, not exactly sure what to expect. For the briefest moment, the muted starlight glinted off of rich, chestnut hair. He didn't have time to really see her, though, because when he turned, she kissed him. And this time, it was entirely different.

Her lips were soft and hungry, and she wound her arms around his neck as though she were afraid of being ripped away. Bert reached up to touch her hair, and drank in her soft scent. It was her. Even in such darkness, he was sure.

_Mary._

Still, the moment didn't seem real. It was as though all the elusive dreams that had nipped at his consciousness over the years were cementing themselves into one, impossible fantasy. He couldn't make himself believe that he was awake. Bert kissed her anyway, and felt his heart race as she parted her lips. She let him kiss her thoroughly, breathlessly. So he kissed her silly, until he thought his heart might beat out of his chest. And when he pulled away, he could finally see enough to tell that her hair was falling around her in glossy waves, without a hairpin in sight. He ran his fingers through it, amazed at how very young and unlike herself she looked. Then, when he pushed her hair back and ran his hands over her shoulders, his heart leapt suddenly. Barely able to breathe, he realized she was entirely naked.

Having never known her to so much as show an ankle, Bert was taken aback. Even in his fantasies, Mary did not undress. Certainly, he'd always wanted to kiss her. He'd wanted to kiss her so badly at times he'd felt a definite ache in his chest. Yet, somehow, that was as far as he'd ventured to imagine. It wasn't because he was entirely inexperienced when it came to romance. He'd had his share of flings. With Mary, though, it had always seemed wrong to think of her undressed. He'd always held her so highly above the bar maids and market girls he'd been with, that it felt disrespectful to lust after her. Now, she was naked beside him. Although, Bert couldn't see her, really. He could barely make out her features in the darkness, but he could feel her studying him with those damned beautiful eyes.

Deciding that, if this was a dream, he may as well go with it, he ran one hand over her shoulder, then under the quilt and down her arm. He followed the line to the end of her fingers, and then over her smooth, soft waist to her hip. He grazed her thigh, and reality swept over him like a cool rush of water. He pulled away suddenly.

"Mary," he whispered throatily, "this doesn't feel right."

She didn't answer, but kissed him again. She pulled her body against his, and he could feel the curve of her breasts against his bare chest. Losing himself a little, he let his hands slide down to the small of her back. She was warm and very real.

Because of all his efforts never to lust for her, Bert had never really thought of Mary's body in this way. He'd always tried not to wonder if her curves were from her layers of impeccable clothing, or her own form. Now, pressed so close to him, her breasts were all he could think about. Her long, smooth legs and the curve of her hips enticed him. After all, for all his sweet gentility, Bert was still a young man. And he wanted her. Yet, once again, he pulled back.

"Mary…I'm not sure that…"

She stopped him. Then, she reached up and touched his face with her graceful hands, and whispered, "Don't speak, Bert. Don't even call my name," she kissed him softly, "Make love to the wind, and the starlight."

Mary put her hands in his hair then, and pulled herself to him so they were touching from lips to toes. Bert felt the warmth again, like when he'd held her hand, but this time, it was blazing into fire. He couldn't say if it was her magic, or his own desire, but he burned like fresh hearth coals. Overwhelmed, he kissed her again and again, until there was nothing but breath and heat. He sensed her pulling away his long, winter underclothes and leaving him as naked as she. He knew he was on the cusp of something that couldn't be undone, that would change everything. Still, he couldn't say no. She wanted it too badly and he was powerless against her. Mary had him. She had his heart and his body and the few things he possessed. She could take it all, and he wouldn't fight. He loved her purely, innocently, blindly, and completely.

So he made love to her, wordlessly. He let himself touch her body, from the roundness of her breasts to plane of her smooth stomach. He put his hands in her hair, which was now wild, tangled and free. He felt the strength in her arms and legs from all the running, flying, and working. Bert plunged his fingers into the soft, silken hairs at the base of her neck and trailed kisses from below her ear to her shoulder. He kissed her cheeks, just below where her eyelashes brushed her skin. She had her eyes closed, as though to see him would be too much.

Finally, Bert shifted his weight and let his hand graze the inside of her thigh. Very carefully, he fitted their bodies together. Then, he held her like that for a moment, knowing her as a woman. To his surprise, she relaxed against him, and buried her face in his neck. The next few minutes were, for Bert, a blur of sound and feeling that was difficult to capture or control. There was warmth and aching, and the neediness of Mary's kisses. There was urgency and desperation, and yet the fear of disappointing her. And finally, there was the moment when she cried out in the most improper of ways and sent him over the edge of something far more powerful than any fantasy he might've had.

Then he just held her, and wondered how it could be that he was the one trembling. He wondered if it had been real, or if he would wake momentarily, alone. He wondered if this meant she would stop disappearing on the wind. He wondered how he would stand it, if she left him, now. So he held her fiercely, and trembled.

* * *

The following morning, Bert struggled to pull himself from sleep. He opened his eyes against the gray, muted light coming through the curtains, and tried to decide why he felt so heavy. As the room became more than shades of light and shadow, he started to remember. It came back to him in flashes. He remembered the soft, warmth of her. He remembered what it was like, to really kiss her. He remembered how she'd clutched at him, and touched his very soul. And yet, he was alone.

Bert pulled himself up in the bed and surveyed his surroundings. His room was just as he'd left it the night before, and he was entirely alone in the large bed. There was no sign that Mary, or anyone for that matter, had been in the room. Sighing, he struggled to make himself believe that he could have had such a vivid dream. Never before had he dreamt of her in such a way. This had been too crisp, too detailed, too real, to be fantasy. Still, she was gone, and he couldn't imagine why she would leave him alone. Why would she come to him, and then disappear? But then, hadn't he been trying to answer that question since the day they'd met?

Rubbing his eyes, Bert once again told himself that it had been a dream. It must have been, he decided. There was no way it could possibly have been real. However, after another moment, he realized he was naked. Startled, he considered the implications. He was certain he'd been wearing his winter undergarments when he went to bed, and he wasn't aware of having a habit of getting undressed in his sleep.

Entirely confused, a part of him wanted to throw on his clothes and run down the hall in search of Mary. Today, more than ever, he wanted her in his arms. He wanted to sort this out together. However, he was also afraid that, if it had been a dream, she would yell at him for such unacceptable behavior. Mary would certainly be horrified, to know how he was dreaming of her.

Rubbing his eyes, Bert flopped back onto the pillows for a moment to think. When he did so, he was surrounded by the unmistakable scent of her. It was a mix of soft powder, lilac, and the elusive essence of stardust. His entire bed smelled of her, and he just _knew._

Swallowing hard over a bit of fear, Bert slid out of the bed and found his long underwear on the floor. Pulling it on, along with his trousers and a clean shirt, he made himself presentable. Splashing some water from the washbasin on his face, he tried to tame his hair and wash the grogginess from his features. Finally satisfied, he pulled on his boots and headed slowly downstairs.

Not sure what to expect, he was surprised to find everyone in the kitchen helping Mae put breakfast on the table already. As they set down plates and bowls, and took their seats, Bert surveyed the scene. Elphaba had not come over yet, but Mae, Wilbur, Tessy, Adrian, Dorothy, Emily, and Henry were all finding places to sit. And then, there was Mary. She breezed through the kitchen door with fresh milk from one of the farmhands. Setting it on the table, she surveyed the scene and snapped at Dorothy to sit up straight. Bert stared at her, perplexed.

She was dressed to perfection, as always. Today, she had on a deep gray skirt and a pressed, white, pin-stripped shirtwaist. She had a dark broach fastened at her neck, and her dark stockings and boots were impeccable, as always. Her hair was swept up and pinned, as usual, with the same soft waves around her face. She'd even taken the time to give her face a touch of powder. There was not a hint that anything was different about her, today. She was the same Mary he'd always known.

Bert stood there for another moment, feeling horribly confused. Once again, he second-guessed himself.

_Have I finally succumbed to insanity? _he wondered a bit darkly.

When the others finally noticed him, he gave a weak smile and took his place at the table.

When Mary took her seat, he said carefully, "You do look fine today, Mary."

She gave him a quick smile and said, "Why thank you, Bert."

Then, they went about eating breakfast. In the normalcy of it, Bert found himself more and more troubled. He watched Mary as she daintily ate her breakfast. He watched her listen as Mae talked about how well the grain harvest had gone that fall, and how it would help provide for all of them that winter. They listened as Mae expressed gratitude at having so many hands available to help with the harvest that year. Bert watched as Mary agreed that many hands make for less work.

When breakfast was finally over, he took a book over to the sofa and pretended to read while he watched Mary help clear up. He watched her use magic to lift the dirty dishes and drop them into the scrub basin when no one was looking. He watched her be so normal, her normal anyway, and something in him started to hurt.

After another few minutes, when the kitchen was clean, Mary passed him on her way to the stairs. Bert stood and called out her name.

She looked him over and said, "Best get yourself together, Bert. We've got much to do today."

With that, she scurried up the stairs with her chin in the air.

Bert stood there for another minute, absolutely dumbfounded. With little other choice, he climbed the stairs slowly. Once in his room again, he pushed the door closed. He gathered the few things he'd left out and put them in his duffle bag. Then, he went to the bed to straighten the sheets. He wasn't sure if Mae would want to launder them, but he thought he could at least make the bed presentable. However, when he pulled the quilts back to smooth out the bottommost sheet, he stopped. He felt a pang of heavy realization as he stared at the sheets. The otherwise clean linens were streaked with blood. It wasn't a great amount, but it was enough to give Bert a chill. And once again, he _knew._

There was no other explanation for this. He had no cuts or abrasions that would be bleeding. He was certain. And he'd seen Mae dress the bed with clean sheets when he'd arrived. There was only one answer.

_Mary._

Bert dropped onto the edge of the bed and felt a wave of so many emotions wash over him. He absently lifted one of the pillows and pulled it to himself. Pressing his face into it for just a moment, he confirmed that her scent was still there. He had not imagined that, either. It had been real. He had been with her. She had been in his bed and he had made love to her. And yet she acted as though they hadn't seen each other since the night before. In fact, she might have been even more distant that usual.

Bert had no idea what to do. He had no idea how to feel, how to behave. He couldn't imagine ignoring her. He didn't want to pretend nothing happened and he didn't know why Mary would do such a thing. He'd always imagined that if they ever got together, he would never let her go. In his mind, if she'd ever agreed to be his, he would cherish her and let the world know. But then, he'd also never imagined that Mary would sleep with anyone, not even him, out of the covenant of holy wedlock. She valued character, and she valued the family unit. She prided herself in being above all moral indecency. And clearly, she'd kept herself solely for the children to this point.

Still sitting on the edge of the bed, Bert glanced at the bloodstains once more and felt heavy torment. Mary was nearly thirty, he was sure. She'd kept herself from men long enough that it was a conscious choice. She was more than old enough to have married, to have been propositioned, even. She was lovely and intelligent. She could have married well. And if she'd wanted to break convention and sleep with someone, she could've had her choice of men. Mary was well-groomed enough to have gotten away with it. Yet she'd chosen the children, until now. And then, for some reason, last night, she'd chosen him. She'd chosen Bert, and he was certain there had never been anyone else.

Finally, unable to stand it any longer, he acted. He pulled the sheets from the bed and rolled them together, hoping Mae would launder them without question. Then, he grabbed his duffle and went in search of Mary. He checked her room, which was spotless, and then each floor. He checked the kitchen, the living room, and the parlor. Then, he went out through the kitchen door into the chilly morning air, and there she was, on the porch.

Mary was watching Wilbur help load a wagon in the distance. Bert noticed that she'd pulled on and fastened her red coat, and had her hands shod in her very white gloves. Her black hat was fastened carefully in her hair, and she stood straight as an arrow, as always. She was the way he'd always seen her, imagined her, and even drawn her.

When she didn't turn to acknowledge him, Bert said, "Mary?"

She turned and looked him over again, and said, "You look quite ready for travel now, Bert."

"Mary," he took a step towards her, "I think we should talk…"

"All right, then…it's a fine morning, is it not?" she observed calmly.

Bert took a breath, "No…I think we should talk about last night."

She turned and looked out across the fields, and asked, "And what about it?"

"You were in my bed last night, Mary. We both know it. I just don't understand…"

She drew a quick breath and fixed him with a harsh look, "I've no idea what you're talking about, Bert. And it's awfully inappropriate for you to make such a claim."

Her words cut to his heart, and he said, "You don't have to do this, Mary. If you've got regret…then share it with me…"

"I cannot regret what never happened, Bert," she turned to face him, sternly, "and I also cannot have you making such claims. Imagine…what would people think?"

Bert was stunned into silence.

She continued, "I've always cherished your friendship, but you know I'll not be treated as less than a lady. We are friends, Bert. You know that. You know me."

There was a silence before he said, "I thought I did…"

Mary looked away again and said, "I'll forgive your thoughtless fantasies this time…because I do care about you…"

Bert drew a quick breath, feeling frustrated and wounded. Boldly, he stepped in and seized her gloved hands. He turned her toward him, startling her, and said, "I saw the blood, Mary…and I'm not so naïve as not to know what it means…"

She jerked away from him then. They both caught a glimpse of Elphaba making her way across the fields. Breezing past him toward the stairs, Mary said, "Pull yourself together, Bert. This simply won't do. We've work to do. I cherish your friendship, but I can't have you sully my reputation."

She was too far away for further conversation, and Bert dropped his shoulders in defeat. He felt like she'd taken a piece of him, and he would never be getting it back. He was confused and hurt, and full of regret at having been so stupid as to think this would go any way other than badly. Still, he had very few options at this point. So he retrieved his duffle and sat on the steps, alone.


	15. Chapter 15

**It's late, and I'm tired, but here's more. Read and review. :-)**

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**Chapter 15**

There wasn't time for Bert to confront Mary again. When Elphaba reached Mae's house, she had her already-packed bag in her hand. Mary had her things ready as well, so Bert had very little choice but to grab his duffel and follow them. After saying a quick goodbye to both Mae and Tessy, who came out into the yard to see them off, Elphaba looked at Bert and Mary expectantly.

"Are we ready?" she asked.

Mary gave a quick nod, and Bert drew a deep breath. With Elphaba looking at him and Mary standing there stoically, he could only nod in return. Satisfied, Elphaba took their hands. Bert closed his eyes and prepared himself. Then, within a moment, he found himself in Oz once again.

This time, they were in the extreme south, on the edge of the desert that bordered Oz to the south. Leading the way, Elphaba took them in the direction of the Animal settlement in the distance. They'd agreed to start here, because this particular settlement was the most organized and was decidedly against the Ozian government. They had a decent leadership structure, and had ties to the Quadling settlements to the east. Having that type of organization made them good candidates for starting to organize a militia. So Elphaba headed into the compound, her head held high.

Mary and Bert followed quietly behind.

Elphaba led the way to the center of tent city, aiming for what they knew was the place where these particular Animal leaders convened. Having met with these Animals before, Elphaba was welcomed warmly. After requesting an audience with the leadership, the three of them waited anxiously outside one of the main tents. It was just a few minutes before they were ushered inside. Taking a seat on the makeshift benches inside the tent, they all looked around.

It was a well put together space, Bert thought, for what was essentially a refugee camp. It was clear that these Animals had been living this way for some number of years, and had done what they could. If it was their chosen way of life, Bert couldn't say that the camp seemed all that bad. He knew of nomadic people in northern Scotland who chose to live similarly. It was all about the choice, though, about the right of any living creature to choose his own destiny. Bert could understand that better than most people.

So they sat, waiting.

After a few minutes, the leaders of the Animal settlement entered the tent. Elphaba greeted them by tipping her pointed hat. The Bengal Tiger, the large, grey Wolf, and the ochre-furred Bear nodded in return.

Bert was learning that it was usually these types of Animals who stepped up and took charge of the refugee camps. With their size, and teeth and claws that could rip a human to shreds, they were reverting to their primitive abilities to defend themselves. Most Animals realized they couldn't compete with the opposable thumbs and the financial resources of most humans, so it was their brute strength that kept them alive. The smaller, more defenseless Animals maintained a measure of freedom by grouping together with these larger, more powerful Animals.

After the greetings, Elphaba wasted no time getting to her point.

"I've come to propose a mutiny against the Ozian government. More specifically, His Holiness, Shell Thropp," she stated rather bitterly.

The Animals looked at each other, and then back at Elphaba. The Tiger spoke, "Were you not, yourself, a Thropp? Before you became a Witch?"

Elphaba took a deep breath, "Yes, I was. I am no longer."

"So you've renounced your birth family?" the Tiger continued.

"Yes," Elphaba answered, "You know that about me."

The Bear looked her over carefully, "Yes, we do, but it's one thing to renounce your family. It's another to propose waging war against them."

Elphaba didn't falter, "I've been waging war against them my whole life, it seems. I can't change who my family was, or is, but I wish to change things for you and your families."

"She has always stood for us," the Wolf commented to the others, "the stories of the Resistance continue…"

"Still…where have you been for more than a year?" the Bear asked.

Elphaba drew another breath, "I will be honest with you, because I know that's what you expect of me. I nearly died, and left Oz to escape a rather hideous fate…and I was forced to reevaluate my life a bit. I've been studying, training, and I've found Mary, who is quite the sorceress."

Their eyes trained on Mary then, and she sat up straighter.

"You know that Animals are a bit wary of sorcery, in general," the Tiger interjected.

"Yes, but Mary has been among the Animals since she was a child. Some of them, in the Glikkus, know her. And she is quite gifted," Elphaba explained.

"And what of you?" the Bear spoke up, "It's my understanding that you're a witch in your own right."

Elphaba nodded, "I prefer sorceress, but yes."

There was a thoughtful pause then.

"Perhaps you should show us what you can do, and then we'll talk about how it might help us," the Tiger suggested.

"Very well, but I'll tell you, what I'm proposing will take more than magick."

The Animals nodded, and then led the way outside. Bert and Mary followed, with Mary looking a bit anxious. Normally, Bert would give her an encouraging smile, or link his arm with his hers. Today, however, he wasn't sure how to approach her at all. He wasn't sure he could touch her without wanting to hold her and scream at her in the same moment. So Bert just watched what transpired.

Once they were all outside the tent, the three Animal leaders gave Elphaba and Mary free reign of the open space. The two women conferred with each other for a few moments, and then stepped just a few feet apart. The air around them seemed to spark and crackle as they raised their arms and put their powers together for the first time.

Bert watched in amazement as Elphaba and Mary demonstrated what they were capable of. They cast a ring of fire around themselves that caused Bert and the others to stumble backwards from the intensity of the heat. Then, it vanished into nothing. They called up the wind, and whipped the tents and the scrubby grass around. They levitated the smallest rocks to the largest boulders. Elphaba called up light in every color of the prism, and cast it around herself. Mary animated a forgotten pile of gardening tools behind one of the tents, and caused them to rake and churn the earth at her command. Elphaba changed the few, ragged weeds into bright, colorful flowers. Then, Mary called for Bert to come closer.

"I need to demonstrate," she said crisply, trying to reassure him with her eyes.

Mary raised her hand, and he was under her control. Bert was forced to move as she wished, and he stumbled around at her whim. Her magick was strong, and he was powerless against it. It bothered him, today, because he already felt so used. Still, he allowed her to demonstrate her magick on him, because it was for the greater good. And he had little choice.

Finally, Elphaba and Mary took hands and lifted themselves from the ground. It was breathtaking, to see them float effortlessly into the sky. Bert studied them, as Mary held herself so properly and Elphaba looked like a wild, sky bird, ready to soar. When they came back to the earth, they stood there for a moment, clasping each other's hands. Something passed between them, unspoken. Bert couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was, but there was something. Then, they turned back towards their audience expectantly.

The Tiger, the Wolf, and the Bear were understandably shocked. They took a moment before responding.

The Tiger spoke up, saying, "You are quite a pair of sorceresses."

Elphaba nodded.

"And who is he?" the Wolf asked, indicating Bert.

"Our assistant," Elphaba said, giving him a quick smile.

Bert nodded rather reluctantly, not entirely sure how he felt about that.

"Let's go inside," the Bear added, "and hear what you have to say."

For the next few hours, they all listened as Elphaba laid out her plan to take the Emerald City. It was extensive, requiring a large Animal militia, and involved taking the prison of Southstairs from the inside. They would need participation from all corners of Oz to turn the tide of prejudice. They would even need some internal involvement within the government to start a rebellion in Southstairs.

Elphaba felt that taking over the mysterious, underground prison would be a deathly blow to Shell's theocracy. Southstairs held Oz's most controversial prisoners, and most powerful magicians. Those locked in its depths could speak of the atrocities of both the Wizard and the subsequent leadership. A huge segment of the Gale Force was devoted to maintaining and guarding the prison, and to take it would incapacitate a large portion of the Emerald City's defense. It would allow all of Oz to see what lengths the government went to to silence dissidents and torment Animals. It also meant having a place to lock up Shell and any other soon-to-be political prisoners. For all those reasons, Elphaba saw it as critical.

She also intended to start the campaign by cutting off the Emerald City from Restwater, and Munchkinland. Those were two of the most important resources for the greater population, and to control them meant having a great deal of bargaining power. For all of this, she emphasized, they would need manpower, or Animal power. They would need a militia of thousands. The Animals would have to fight for themselves, for their own freedom. Humans simply couldn't be convinced to give their lives for Animals. Most of them were too jaded from a generation of anti-Animal propaganda.

"Your fate is in your own hands," Elphaba explained, "but we can help. We can give you a decided advantage, with our powers."

The Bear looked Elphaba over thoroughly, and said, "You are quite convincing. You're well-educated in politics and Ozian history. You have good strategy and great power. You are quite a surprise, because we've only known you as a bit of a fanatical witch," he turned to Mary, "but you…you are very quiet…"

Elphaba looked at Mary, who had said almost nothing so far. Mary cocked her head and looked back at the Bear.

Finally, she said, "Are you doubting my abilities?"

The Bear paused, "Not in sorcery, no."

"I don't put a lot of a value in endlessly prattling on, and Miss Elphaba is the political brains of this pairing," Mary stated.

"How invested are you in this fight?" the Bear asked.

"Enough," Mary answered, "And I would ask…is it me that you're doubting, or your own solidarity?"

"I have to question you. You're asking me to risk the lives of my people."

"Are their lives not already at risk? Have they not already suffered?"

The three Animals were thoughtful.

"At what point," Mary went on, "does inaction begin to cause more suffering than action? How much blood has to be shed before you are willing to shed blood yourself?"

The tent was very quiet, then. Even Bert was surprised at Mary's rather dark wisdom.

Eventually, the Wolf said, "You're right, but you're also influencing us. That's part of your power, isn't it? I can almost feel you…in my head…"

Mary lifted her chin and looked away, nonplussed.

"That's a rather dangerous gift," the Tiger said, "putting ideas in other's heads…"

Elphaba spoke up, "Then I guess we should be grateful she's chosen to work for good."

"And," Mary added, "I cannot influence you to do something you aren't inclined to do on your own. I have my limitations."

"I see," the Tiger mused.

The Animals conferred for a moment in whispers, and then turned back to the threesome.

The Tiger stated, "We'll call a meeting of the greater population. We'll give them your proposal, and see who's willing to enlist in your army. Give us one week."

Elphaba smiled a steely smile, "I'm glad to hear it," she stood and bowed slightly to all three Animals, "We have many other camps to visit, but we'll return in a week's time."

With that, they were dismissed.

Without so much as a moment to discuss what had transpired, Elphaba led the way towards their next destination. There wasn't time for introspection or self-indulgence. There wasn't time to celebrate their success. Bert knew Elphaba would push hard, because they had a limited window of opportunity. And, if they thought too hard about what they were doing, there was a very good chance they would all lose their nerve. So they traveled, leaping the greatest distance magickally, and then hiking into the Quadling swamps on foot.

Their next stop would be at a Quadling settlement in the western swamps. Elphaba had heard that these particular people were sentimental towards the Animals, and harbored them secretly in their thatched houses high above the murky ground. The Quadlings were strong and resilient, and made good weapons. They were well-versed in poisons and archery. Having them in the militia would be a great asset, and Elphaba hoped to convince them to join.

So they spent the afternoon making the same plea as before, and Mary and Elphaba once again demonstrated their magick. The Quadlings, being a very emotional and uninhibited people, reacted in both awestruck fear and passionate excitement. The Animals came out from their hiding places and surrounded Elphaba and Mary. They asked questions and posed their fears. Most importantly, they made a commitment. They realized that the time had come to change the future of Oz, and the Quadlings stood with them. It was a victory already, Bert realized.

Then, the people insisted on having their guests stay for a proper declaration of war. The Quadling people were steeped in mysticism and superstition, but it made for a beautiful spectacle. They did nothing, made no decision, without coming together as a group and presenting themselves as a sacrifice to their spirits. Even facing war or famine or disease, they would feast and dance together. It made them stronger, as a people, Elphaba explained to Bert and Mary as they ate ripe, exotic fruit long after sunset that night. Their culture was one of the reasons that the Quadlings still stood after years of invasion and forced slavery in the ruby mines.

"A Quadling will never lie to you, never steal from you, or scheme to take what isn't his behind your back. If he wrongs you, he will tell you. Their beliefs are sometimes strange, but I'll take superstition and polygamy over greed and bigotry any day," Elphaba had explained.

Bert was inclined to agree.

Finally, long after dark, when the bonfire had died down and they were assured of the commitment of the Quadling people, they retired to one of the thatched tree houses. The leaders had insisted that their guests stay the night, and Elphaba explained that it would be considered an insult for them to refuse. So they wearily took to the unusual sleeping quarters, and were relieved to find several cots in the small space. Mary seemed to be making peace with the fact that this mission was going to require her to step out of her comfort zone when it came to where they slept. There were no guarantees of a private room and clean sheets in a war. So she stashed her carpet bag and umbrella, and wearily peeled off as many layers of clothing as she dared. Still, she crawled into one of the cots mostly dressed, while Elphaba managed to pull on a thick nightgown without revealing too much of herself.

Bert turned his head, out of respect, and kicked off his boots. Adding his hat and jacket to the pile, he lay back on the cot and stared at the ceiling. Elphaba sat up by lamplight for a while, buried in one of her books, before blowing out the light and falling asleep. Still, Bert stared. He shifted his gaze out one of the windows and stared at the strange sky. His thoughts rolled and tumbled, and he was very unsettled. Finally, he turned over and let Mary's sleeping form come into focus from across the room.

She was very still, with her breath coming in even rhythms. Her hair shone in the bright moonlight, and was amazingly neat for someone sound asleep. Her lashes were splayed over her cheeks beautifully. Bert stared at her, and began to realize how very hurt, confused, and angry he was. Here they were, trying to wage a war, at a time when they should trust each other completely, and he felt that Elphaba was being far more transparent with him than Mary.

He had no idea what Mary had been thinking the night before. He had no idea what she'd hoped to accomplish, or whether she'd thought she was helping him or herself. He knew that Mary tended to simply deny anything she didn't want to have to explain, but he'd never thought she would outright lie. Not to him. Feigning ignorance was one thing, as was pretending not to be responsible for the good or magickal things that happened to her charges. But denying what had happened between them was just a slap in Bert's face. He felt used and lonely, lonelier than he'd felt in some time. He felt like Mary was holding all the cards, with her magick and her influence. She was a force, as was Elphaba, and he was merely their page.

Bert had always felt in charge of his own destiny, until now. He wanted to be part of this. He wanted to help make a difference, but he felt like he'd given up a measure of control. He wasn't the jack of all trades with all the answers here. He couldn't get by on a smile and a song in a land of magick and impending war. He also felt like he'd lost a friendship that was precious to him, and he wouldn't have traded that for anything, not even one night with Mary. He could not, however, force her to admit that she'd been in his bed.

So he just looked at her, and swallowed over tears that he thought too unmanly to shed. Bert watched her sleep, and thought about the war they were starting, while trying to calm the war within his spirit.

* * *

It was more than three weeks before they finally made their way back into the Emerald City. They had traversed Oz again, returning to the same settlements and camps they visited previously. This time, they had called for action. They'd demonstrated their abilities and Elphaba had recounted the sad and corrupt state of the government. She'd highlighted the general poverty and suffering in all corners of the land, with the exception of the wealthy, oblivious residents of the city. And they were gathering an army, slowly but surely. Elphaba was tentatively optimistic that so many were willing to risk their lives for freedom, but she felt that it was simply time. A people can only be pushed so far before they either die off, or rebel. The Animals had reached that point.

Now that she had the commitment of a decent militia, Elphaba had turned her focus toward the Emerald City. She was determined to take Southstairs at the same time that the militia rose up and against the local governments. There was no need to storm the palace, she believed, because taking Shell would be easy. He was too vain to really fight. The problem was the very loyal Gale Force and the wealthy backers of his empire. Elphaba knew their only hope was to wrestle their power from beneath them. To take the massive prison and release the multitude of prisoners would allow them to take the city. It would also shift the balance of power, and perceived power is often more valuable than power itself.

So Elphaba led the way into the city in the dark of night, securing a room far from the palace in the basement of a meat market. Then, she left Bert and Mary to contend with the dark space and the pungent smell. With a vague explanation, she headed out into the night.

Elphaba leapt herself between worlds, to end up just outside the palace gates. Then, scanning the grounds in the darkness, she did the same thing to end up in Glinda's quarters. Standing in the sitting area, she looked around until she determined which doorway led to the bedroom. Creeping down the short hallway, Elphaba emerged very near a sleeping Glinda. Moving very carefully, she pulled a folded piece of paper from the pocket of her cloak. She laid it on the table next to Glinda's bed, and then disappeared.

* * *

The following morning, Elphaba waited impatiently in the tavern on the corner, just down the street from her rented room. She sipped warm tea, and watched the door. After at least an hour had passed, she started to lose hope. However, just after the breakfast crowd of early-mornings drunks had stumbled out, Glinda came through the door.

The public wouldn't have recognized her, with her hair upswept in a rather severe bun and dressed in an unassuming, grey dress. She wore a hooded cloak, which she kept wrapped around herself, and dark walking boots. She crossed the space and sat down across from Elphaba without a word. Elphaba studied her.

"You came," she finally said.

"Yes," Glinda whispered.

"Do you know what you're involving yourself in?"

Glinda nodded.

"And you want to walk this road with me?"

"You tried to protect me once. This time, I want to do something. It's time I did something with my life," Glinda stated.

There was a pause, "I think that's the general sentiment," Elphaba mused.

Glinda drew a breath, "And I believe…that Oz deserves a leader who cares for the people…and not just himself. I think…it's time."

"I couldn't agree more," Elphaba said softly.

"You came back into my life at the right time, Elphie. I was starting to feel…like it just might not be worth it, anymore…" Glinda's eyes were sad.

Elphaba felt sudden concern, "How do you mean?"

"My life…I've done very little with it. I don't even have children to show for it. My husband is merely an acquaintance to me…he gave me his blessing to live at the palace. I used to think you were too fanatical…but…I'd rather die doing something, than keeping living this….nothing…"

Elphaba was struck by the hopelessness in her friend, and said, "I think we all feel that, sometimes. I know I've been there."

"There are times, Elphie, that I wish I had your strength. I wish…I could stand for myself…the way you do…" Glinda added softly. There was a heavy, melancholy tone in her voice, and her eyes were darker than Elphaba remembered.

Elphaba studied her friend, remembering the last time they'd spoken before Elphaba had vanished into Kansas, "I thought you wanted me to give all this up? I thought…you thought I was crazy?"

"I did…or, I thought you were out of control."

"Perhaps I was, a bit."

Glinda struggled, "But, then, I'd never had any personal investment in…change. I'd never known anything all that…bad."

Elphaba watched Glinda as she cut her eyes toward the floor. She sensed the heaviness in her friend's spirit, and she knew something was off. There was something different, something wrong. After a moment, she asked, "What's happened?"

Glinda wouldn't look at her.

"Glinda?" Elphaba asked, "Galinda?"

When the blonde woman finally looked at her, Elphaba could see pain in her soft, blue eyes.

"I think I shouldn't tell you, because he's your brother…" Glinda whispered.

"Shell?" Elphaba grit her teeth, "I couldn't think much less of him."

Glinda looked at her hands, "I'm not just his Press Secretary, Elphie. I'm not just a front for his campaign. Certainly, I'm a pretty face to make him appealing, but…there's a reason he wanted a woman in the palace…"

It took Elphaba about half a second to understand what Glinda was saying.

"You're his lover?" she spat.

Glinda's head jerked up, "Not willingly."

Elphaba felt her heart wrench within her, because this information hit entirely too close to home. It made her reel from the intensity of her reaction, and she took a deep breath to calm herself.

"Don't go back there," Elphaba ordered, "Come with me."

Glinda gave a sad smile, "He'll kill me, Elphie. And…I don't want to run away. As awful as it is, I took this position willingly. I want to fight. You need me on the inside of this fight."

Elphaba still struggled with her emotions, "I'll kill him, Glinda. Blood relation or not. I learned a long time ago that evil knows no prejudice."

"That much is true…" Glinda said softly.

There was a long pause then, as they both searched for words.

Elphaba finally stated, "I don't suppose we'll ever entirely rid of the world of wrong, will we? But I'll never understand why we, as people, have to hurt one another…"

"All of us have the capacity to hurt each other," Glinda said carefully, "if we're pushed far enough, or if we allow ourselves."

Elphaba couldn't disagree. Very quietly, she said, "You know…ironically, it was an Animal that first truly wounded me. Certainly, my father made me feel less than significant…but it was Hadrick who showed me how evil the world can be."

Glinda listened.

"Those five years I was gone…before Fiyero found me again…I spent two of them…" Elphaba struggled with things she'd tried to put away, "In a situation similar to yours."

"With an Animal?" Glinda looked horrified.

Elphaba shook her head, "With men that he…accepted payment from."

Glinda just stared at her, understandably upset. Eventually, she said softly, "I'm so sorry, Elphie…"

In a gesture that was a bit out of character, Elphaba reached out and took her friend's hand, "I'm sorry as well, for you."

There was another quiet moment, with the two of them lost in thought.

Glinda broke the silence by saying, "I'm glad you've come back, Elphie. You're…different, and it's good. And Oz needs you."

"And I'm glad for your help," Elphaba echoed, "I need _you._"

Glinda drew a breath, "What can I do?"

"I need to know if we have any Gale Force officers who harbor anti-government feelings. I need a mutiny from within, and I need to take Southstairs. I need to get weapons in there, and to distribute information to the inmates. And I need these people released," she slid a piece of paper toward Glinda.

Glinda looked it over and gave a solemn nod, "I'll get them out, first. Then I'll see who might sway toward your side. Shell keeps an armory in the palace…perhaps it will be burglarized…"

"You can have political prisoners released?" Elphaba asked.

Glinda smiled sadly, "I'm a woman, Elphie. I can force my hand with Shell. And he thinks I'm far too stupid to manipulate him."

Elphaba's expression darkened, "The idea of you having to…be with him makes me sick."

"We all play our lots as they're cast," Glinda said, rather wisely for the silly girl she used to be.

"You're a good friend, Galinda Upland," Elphaba said softly.

"And you are the reckoning Oz needs, Elphaba Thropp."

Elphaba gave a tiny smile, "Perhaps I am…with Mary."

Glinda cocked her head, and Elphaba began to explain the entirety of her plan once again.

* * *

They spent two weeks in the city, working closely, if covertly, with Glinda. Bert also found his niche in the plan. With both Elphaba and Mary needing to keep themselves out of the public's eye, and Elphaba's already infamous reputation as the Wicked Witch, Bert became their link to Glinda. He met with her at different locations across the city, passing information and taking packages to Elphaba and Mary. They posed as lovers, as parents, as business associates. It made Bert feel significant for the first time in quite a while, and it kept him busy. It made the silent distance between he and Mary almost bearable.

So Bert gave it all he had, and tried to play his part well. He was used to wearing a lot of hats, metaphorically, so reinventing himself came easily enough. This time, however, it felt like he was doing it for something that mattered. And he understood the danger. He realized that the Gale Force could come rushing out at any moment and arrest Glinda for treason. He knew his fate wouldn't be good, even as an accomplice. Still, he did it because of the sense of purpose it gave him after a life of wandering. He did it for Mary, hoping to help her, hoping she might realize he was worthy of more than a one night stand.

Still, it was exhausting. They moved every few days, seeking out another seedy, cheap place to stay. Elphaba and Mary spent much of their time holed up in whatever room they'd rented, organizing the information and supplies Glinda had supplied. Elphaba handled the details of the mission, and Mary handled keeping them alive. She negotiated their living quarters and their meals. She swayed the cooks and charmed the landlords. She cleaned the kitchens and swept the floors, and left the bartenders in wide-eyed amazement at her magick. Then, she walked away with whatever she wanted. It was Mary's way, and no one could argue with her. No one suspected Mary of mutiny or espionage. No one ran from her in fear or turned up their nose at her, the way they did Elphaba and Bert. They each had their piece of puzzle, in that way.

Just over two weeks in, Elphaba decided it was time to meet with Glinda face to face again. Bert sensed they were on the verge of launching something important that night, as Elphaba wrapped herself in a cloak and scarves and headed out into the dark. Mary wished her good luck, and Bert noticed they clasped hands before Elphaba disappeared up the stairs to the street. Then, he and Mary were alone.

The space was small, and suddenly felt suffocating. Bert had had very few moments alone with Mary over the past few weeks. Now, it was just the two of them in the tiny space, staring at the chipped and worn walls. They glanced at each other, and then Bert settled himself into the one chair. He pulled some of his drawing crayons and paper from his satchel, and tried to think of something other than Mary to draw.

Mary paced uncomfortably for a few minutes, and then very carefully settled herself on one of the tiny beds. Rummaging through her bag, she also scratched at her upswept hair. Glancing at Bert oddly, she finally pulled a hairbrush from her bag. With her back to him, she pulled the hairpins from her hair. Collecting them neatly on the table beside her, she began to pull the brush through her tangled hair.

It was the most unkempt Bert had ever seen her, but it was understandable, given their current living situation. And he knew she was only allowing him to see this because she had no other choice. Still, he couldn't help staring. Seeing Mary with her hair loose around her only reminded him of how innocent she had looked, in his arms.

After a few minutes, he said, "You look different…like that."

"I don't look like the Mary you love," she said, still facing the wall.

"Yes, you do," Bert answered softly.

Mary held the brush in her hands, and said, "Bert…"

"No," he interrupted her, "I have some things I need to say."

Mary held her brush, pensive.

"Mary," he started, "we both know what 'appened between us. We've both allowed the distraction of the past five weeks to suppress the truth, but…"

Raising the brush again, Mary said, "I've told you Bert, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do," Bert said firmly.

"I don't see the point in having this argument again," Mary stated formally.

Bert stood and crossed the room. Very carefully, he sat down on the bed next to her, keeping enough space between them as not to seem too forward. Mary startled, but tried not to show it. She continued to brush her hair.

"Even if you regret it, even if you no longer want to be friends, we 'ave to talk about what 'appened, Mary. You can't deny this the way you can deny your magick. You didn't do something _for_ me, you did something _with_ me. We made love, together, because you came to my bed."

Mary let her hands rest in her lap, and Bert could tell he'd troubled her.

He continued, "I touched you, Mary. You kissed me. I 'eld you and…you 'ad your 'air like this. We were naked and we made love…together."

She glanced at him, and then went back to staring at the brush in her hands.

"Mary…" Bert struggled, "I would never, ever have wanted to be with you like that, and then walk away. You do know that, don't you?"

She finally looked at him, with a storm in her eyes.

Bert reached out, on impulse, and touched her hair. Even dirty, it was soft and heavy in his hand. He slid closer to her, and he could smell the delicate, sweet scent she somehow always had.

"Mary…" he said softly.

She turned her face towards him, and Bert was captivated. He lost the words, and was caught up in finally being close to her again. Unable to find what he wanted to say, he leaned in and kissed her. Once again, the world spun. The heat was real and overwhelming, and Bert remembered. And for a moment, Mary let it happen. She parted her lips and let him keep his hands in her hair. Then, she jerked away from him again.

Mary leapt from the bed and stormed across the room. Bert looked after her, weary and not surprised.

"You cannot do this to me, Bert. This cannot happen," she stated, her voice shaking.

"Why, Mary?" he asked quietly.

"Because…you're ruining us."

"You came to me, Mary. You came to my room."

She turned and pointed a finger in his face, "You cannot prove that wasn't a dream."

"There was blood on the sheets, Mary," Bert stated softly.

She looked away quickly.

After a long silence, he asked, "Were you a virgin?"

She drew a breath and snapped, "That's not your concern."

Bert was wounded again, "We can't keep doing this…"

Mary turned, "Then we won't. Let it go, and let me be the Mary you've been drawing for ten years."

Bert studied her, trying to understand, "Mary…you are the person I've been drawing for ten years. You were that person when you were in my bed."

She balled her hands into fists then, and paced, "We cannot go on like this Bert. You have to stop."

"Then just be kind enough to me to admit what 'appened! As your friend, do you not owe me that much?"

Mary turned on him, her eyes flashing, "I've given you what you wanted, Bert! I gave you what you've been trying to get at for ten years! So, please, give me what I want! Let me stay the person I've always been!"

Bert reeled as though he'd been slapped, and he stood to face her. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, and said, "You think that's what I wanted from you, Mary?"

She held his gaze.

He shook his head, "I can't believe you think that little of me, after all this time. What I wanted, Mary, is to 'old your 'and. I want to take your 'and and not 'ave you pulling away and wondering what people think. I want to take you out, and walk down the street with my arm around you. I want to kiss you under the stars, and watch them with you. I want to sit with you in the park on a blanket, and 'old you while we study the sky. I want you to finally share with me what's going on in your 'ead, and let me 'old you through whatever 'urts you, or scares you. _That's_ what I wanted, Mary Poppins!"

She looked away again, and said, "I suppose we can't all have what we want."

Bert stepped back, feeling horribly wounded once again. And with it, he felt a certain bitterness. He was running out of pleas and arguments, and he thoroughly didn't understand Mary's reasoning behind hurting him so badly. So he acted.

"I've always loved you, Mary Poppins. I don't understand you, but I love you. And if you need me to prove it, if you need me to prove that I'm more than just a drifter, then so be it."

With that, Bert grabbed his things and stormed out.

And Mary dropped back on the bed with her hair falling around her, and her heart in pieces.


	16. Chapter 16

**And now here's more. I hope you'll continue to review, and enjoy. We're getting to the crux of things, now...**

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**Chapter 16**

Elphaba spent much longer talking with Glinda than she knew was necessary. They covered the last minute details for their mutiny against Shell rather quickly, and then talked for some time, trying to calm their nerves. Although neither one wanted to openly admit it, they were both quite anxious.

"It's all seemed so black and white, until now," Elphaba was saying, "All the campaigning and planning and organizing…it can start to feel…too simple. It's so easy to lose sight of the fact that we're talking about insurrection against the Ozian government…"

"I know…" Glinda said very softly.

The two women were in the back corner of a very seedy pub in one of the poorest corners of the city. They were sipping wine very slowly, trying to calm their own nerves.

"When this is over," Elphaba continued, "I want you to come with me to Kansas. Take a break from this life, this city. I'm sure that Sir…whatever you husband's name is…won't mind."

Glinda tried to smile, "If I survive this, I believe I've lost enough of my pride to say yes to that…"

Elphaba gave Glinda a hard look, "Don't say that. You _will_ survive this."

"I want to believe that's true, Elphie."

"I can put you in a safe place, until the worst of this is over," Elphaba explained, "If you'll let me..."

Glinda chewed her lip, "No Elphie. I want to be part of this."

"You have been part of it. You've done more than enough. You've risked more than enough. And you've tolerated more than enough," Elphaba said, rather bitterly.

"I told you…I knew that I was getting into when I accepted the job at the palace," Glinda said, "I knew what I was doing before you ever came back into my life."

"Still…no one should use another person that way…" Elphaba spat, trying not to let her own past get her too emotional.

Glinda cocked her head and said, "I wish we'd kept in touch, when you ran off to join the Resistance. I wish…you'd let me stay in your life through all of that. Perhaps I would've understood you better. Perhaps…everyone would have…"

Elphaba shook her head, "Some things are too horrible to be shared, Glinda. I don't want anyone's pity. Or, at least, I don't want to succeed because of pity."

Glinda nodded, "I can understand that…"

"Let's focus on tomorrow, then," Elphaba stated.

Glinda nodded, and the two of them very quietly left the pub.

* * *

Elphaba took Glinda back to the rented room where she'd left Bert and Mary earlier. It was time for Elphaba and Mary to leave the city, and set the first part of their plan in motion. Glinda would stay behind, to carry out their plan for Southstairs. However, Elphaba first needed to show them all the safe house. They'd planned for Glinda, Bert and Mary to gather there once their roles were played, while Elphaba continued to gather information from the Animal leaders. Assuming their victory, Elphaba would bring the leaders back to the safe house to discuss the transition of leadership, while Glinda returned to the palace to temporarily govern the state. They all had a long way to go, however, before they could begin to contemplate victory.

When Elphaba arrived back at their basement room, however, she found Mary in quite a state of disarray. She was sitting on one of the beds with her tangled hair loose around her. She had kicked off her boots and was sitting with her legs crossed underneath herself. It was entirely improper, and her position was only emphasized by the fact that she had her face in her hands.

Elphaba looked around and immediately asked, "Where's Bert?"

Mary looked up suddenly. Her eyes were tired, and she seemed very distracted as she said, "He left."

"What?" Elphaba snapped.

"He left," Mary repeated, "we argued…and he left."

"To go where?"

"I don't know," Mary snapped back, "I think he feels the need to prove his worth. I say…let him have at it."

Shocked at the harshness in Mary's voice, Elphaba demanded, "What is he going to do?"

"I have no idea," Mary said rather carelessly.

"Should we go after him?" Glinda asked softly.

"Yes," Elphaba stated, "He'll jeopardize everything if he acts out on his own!"

"No," Mary retorted, "Bert can take care of himself. He's been doing fine on his own for more than twenty years now. And his part of this plan is over."

"Mary…he'll get himself killed, in this fight," Elphaba said, her expression serious.

"He won't get in the fight," Mary insisted, straightening her skirt, "Bert isn't a fighter. He'll keep the children entertained and distract them from the chaos of this, or he'll watch from the rooftops until he calms down. That's his way."

"Mary…" Elphaba warned, still feeling very uncertain, "if he's upset, he could get us killed. He could give us away or fumble this plan…"

"He won't," Mary snapped as she hastily re-pinned her messy hair, "Bert won't do that. And we don't have time to waste searching for him. You know that."

The two women faced off for a minute, until Elphaba felt that Mary was telling the absolute truth. Mary did, after all, know Bert better than any of them.

"Are you that angry with him?" Elphaba had to ask, "That you want to leave him alone in this city? During a war?"

Mary looked away.

"Even if he wouldn't interfere with this, he'll still be in danger…just being here. And being…foreign," Elphaba warned again.

"He'll stay out of the fight, and he's not an Animal," Mary insisted.

Elphaba's brow furrowed, "What happened to make you two so angry with each other?"

"It doesn't matter. Bert and I can sort out our troubles after all this. And we won't find him, if he doesn't want to be found. He and I have that in common. So let's get on with it," Mary ordered, standing to gather her things.

Having little other choice, Elphaba nodded. She was still very uneasy, but she couldn't stand around and argue with Mary. They were about to start a war, and therefore, they truly couldn't waste time on sentiment. So they gathered their things and Mary tied on her boots. Then, grasping hands with each other and Glinda, Elphaba leapt them to what she called her safe house.

The 'safe house' was actually the abandoned mauntery on the edge of the Emerald City, where they'd found Mary with the orphaned children so many weeks ago. Elphaba felt like it would be a good place to both start and end their fight. They would set out on their individual missions from here, the next morning. They'd also agreed to meet here if things were not going in their favor. The house was well-fortified in the way it was built, and it was set far enough back from any road that most people didn't see it. It was also clearly abandoned, and wasn't in a strategic place for either side of this fight. Their only real issue would be if any person or persons decided they needed a place to hide at exactly this location. Elphaba was hoping that scenario would not occur.

So they stowed their things carefully by the door, in case they had to leave quickly. Since they were going to stay the night, they also went to work on starting a fire in the large fireplace on the first floor. It was frigid in this part of Oz in February, and the ground was still crusted with the last snowfall.

The three women found firewood easily enough, and Mary lifted it, with a bit of magick, into the fireplace. Then, Elphaba cast a spark that lit the stack of wood on fire. She coaxed it into a larger, roaring flame with a wave of her hand. Glinda smiled at them, and their adeptness with magick.

"You two are quite the pair," she said lightly.

"I suppose," Elphaba admitted, "but it's a fight to get Mary just to admit to her magick."

Mary, who was warming her hands by the fire, stated, "I've never believed in making a spectacle of myself, Miss Elphaba."

Elphaba paused, feeling a little wounded, "I thought we were past the formalities, Mary. I thought, by now, we were friends," she argued.

Mary reached up to touch her hair, and stood as straight as ever by the fireplace. She was quiet for a moment, and then said, "I make it a rule not to have friends, in general."

Perhaps because of the stress, or the increasing softness of her spirit, Elphaba's temper flared, "Really? After all this? You can't even call me a friend?"

"We have some very specific things in common, Miss Elphaba. I don't deny that. You've forced me to admit to being a sorceress and you've gotten more out of me than even Bert could. You've made me question…many things. But I think it's dangerous for people like us to call each other, or anyone, friend."

Elphaba was floored once again, "What do you mean, 'people like us'?"

Mary turned to look at Elphaba, "Children of both worlds. Anomalies. People who don't belong."

"I'm still not sure how you like to think of yourself, other than as 'perfect', but I'd like to think I do belong, in my own way," Elphaba argued.

Mary's expression was hard when she asked, "And what world do you belong to?"

"Both," Elphaba retorted, "I am a child of both worlds."

"You can't belong wholly to two worlds. You are always an outsider, to a certain extent," Mary kept on.

"Do you really believe that?" Elphaba asked.

"You can't argue with the truth," Mary stated firmly.

There was a long pause, and then Elphaba said, "I happen to know for a fact that you call Bert a friend."

"And look where that's gotten me!" Mary shouted, nearly losing her composure.

Elphaba was a little startled by the reaction. She sensed there was something brewing in Mary, something more than just anxiety over their mission. Elphaba studied her, then said, "I've said it before, Mary. You're pushing everyone away. You're trying to keep Bert in love with an impossible fantasy."

Mary took a deep breath, and spoke more calmly, "If it makes Bert happy to love the perfect Mary Poppins, what's the harm in that?"

"I can imagine that there's plenty of harm," Elphaba answered, "Surely he can see through the silly fantasy, if he's truly your friend. He must feel at least a little…deceived. And for you…I can only imagine the harm in never letting anyone really see you…"

"I don't matter!" Mary snapped, "I _can't_ matter. I'm here for a purpose. I visit the other world for a _purpose_. I'm here to give, not to take! We have work to do here, and when it's complete, I'll move on to the next place that needs me. That is what I do. That is, if I survive this."

"It's a terrible thing, to think you don't matter, personally," Elphaba said gravely, "And I wish you'd stop talking about dying. Both of you!"

The tension in the room was palpable. Glinda looked at her hands, and Mary looked into the fire.

"There was a time," Glinda said very softly, "when you thought your life didn't matter, Elphie…"

Elphaba drew a breath, and then admitted, "You're right. I've been where both of you are. But by some great privilege, I got a chance find some value in my life."

There was a pause, and then she turned to Glinda, saying, "Glinda…you are going to come out of this. You're going to walk away from Shell, and all of this, and make your own life. You can leave your sham of a marriage, if you like. You can find your own passion, something more than just being a pretty face. You deserve that."

Then, she looked at Mary, and said, "Mary…we are children of both worlds. So be it. We can't change where we came from or who gave us birth. But we do _belong_!" Elphaba insisted.

Mary turned around, and her eyes were dark, "At least, Miss Elphaba, you know who gave you birth. And we do not belong. We're too different. I think both of these worlds have done a rather fine job of rejecting us."

Elphaba, shocked by the bitterness in the statement, took a step towards Mary, "You're right. We are different. There are things about ourselves we may never understand. Some of those things are good. We are powerful, and we can even leap between worlds. But I am green, and you have your weakness, and Dorothy may have some sort of yet undiscovered problem. For some reason, we can't tolerate the water in Oz. Still, who doesn't have some sort of problem? Who doesn't have faults and flaws, and things about themselves they don't want to show or wish they could change?"

Mary shook her head, "I'm more than just 'different', Miss Elphaba."

Elphaba took another step into Mary's face, "What about the things about you that aren't _different_?"

Mary looked a bit shaken.

Elphaba plowed on, "What about the things we all share, as people? Were you not born like everyone else? Were you not nursed and weaned and fed? Have you not grown into a woman like anyone else? Can't you smile and laugh and cry? Do you not hurt and get angry?"

Mary wouldn't answer, and so Elphaba stepped in closer. Just like she'd done a long time ago, in Kansas, she pulled a small blade from her boot that she'd stowed for defense. With a quick gesture, she seized Mary's arm and drew the blade across it. A thin, red line of blood appeared.

Mary squealed and jumped backward, "How dare you!"

Elphaba was nonplussed, "Do you not bleed like everyone else? In either world?" she asked rhetorically.

"How dare you attack me!" Mary shouted, covering the cut with her other hand, "After all I've agreed to do for you!"

Elphaba shook her head, "That was a far cry from attacking you. It's barely a scratch, and you're not doing this for me, Mary. You're doing it for these Animals, because you care. You may loathe yourself, but you care deeply for others. And you know that _everyone_ deserves the chance to live and love freely…no matter who or what they are…or where they come from. And everyone," Elphaba said pointedly, "includes _you_."

"No," Mary shook her head, "I'm just a lovely anomaly. I'll do my part, and then I'll be gone."

Elphaba stared at Mary, tormented by what she wanted to say next. Finally, she gave in and confessed it, "Do you know that I have a son, Mary?"

Mary's eyes widened briefly.

"He belongs to Fiyero. So I want you to tell me, if you and I are so impossibly different, how is it that Fiyero and I could conceive a child?"

Mary had no answer, and Glinda looked understandably shocked.

"In the ways that matter, Mary, we're all the same. We cry, we hurt, we bleed. We make love and make life. And we are all flawed, in our own way."

Mary looked as though she were ready to panic. She started to tremble, and she put her hands in her hair, mussing it further. Then, she shouted at Elphaba, "This campaign isn't about changing _me_! I am very satisfied with my life! So could you _please_ simply focus on the goal?"

Elphaba's temper flared again, "You're right! Maybe I've lost site of the point of this! We're trying to give the Animals a better life! I would most sincerely hate it if _you_ ended up better off as well!"

The sarcasm wasn't lost on Mary, "I do _not_ need a better life! My life is perfectly fine, thank you!"

"You're right," Elphaba spat, "It is _perfect._ It's just too bad that _perfect_ and _happy_ are not the same thing!"

"Elphie!" Glinda interjected then, "All of Oz can hear the two of you yelling like this!"

Elphaba caught herself then, and was silent.

Mary looked them both over, her face a picture of angry defiance, and then she stormed through the kitchen and out the back door of the house.

Elphaba stood by the fire for some time, feeling both angry and defeated. After a time, Glinda came and stood next to her.

Eventually, Elphaba said, "I don't know why I keep pushing her. It shouldn't matter to me, what she does with her life…"

Glinda took Elphaba's hand, like she used to do when they were schoolgirls, "It's because…she reminds you of…you."

Elphaba snorted her disagreement.

"Elphie…" Glinda said knowingly.

Elphaba dropped her shoulders in defeat, "You're right. That self-loathing independence…I know how hard that is…"

Glinda gave a tiny smile, "It's nice to finally hear you admit that."

Elphaba set her shoulders back and nodded.

Another few minutes passed in front of the crackling fire, before Glinda said, "Go get her. It's frigid outside and she's left her coat in here."

Somewhat reluctantly, Elphaba crossed through the kitchen and out the door leading to the rear courtyard. It was a nice, walled space with spreading trees and wildflowers. The plants were unkempt, now, but the idea of a garden still existed. Elphaba found Mary just a few paces off the porch steps, staring at the sky. She had her back to the house, and she was very still.

Elphaba crossed to her, and said, "You should come in. It's freezing. This argument isn't worth your health. I'll stop prying. I give you my word."

Mary didn't move.

"Come on, Mary. You'll do this cause no good if you freeze to death, and you said you at least wanted to play your part, before you die."

Mary still didn't move, and Elphaba could see her trembling.

"For Oz sakes, Mary…" Elphaba sighed, crossing so she could see Mary's face. Then, she froze.

Mary was crying. Without making a sound, tears streamed down her face. Somehow, it was worse than if she'd been sobbing. Even in a moment of such obvious distress, she wouldn't allow herself the freedom to break down into messy, loud sobs. It made Elphaba hurt for her, in spite of how frustrated she was.

Not sure what to do, Elphaba just stood there for a minute. Mary continued to stare at the stars while the tears ran. Finally, Elphaba acted. She did the one thing that ran most contrary to her nature, but it was what Mae and Tessy had once done for her. She crossed to Mary, and put her arms around her. Without regard for convention, formality, or for possible bruising, she held her new friend tightly. Elphaba could feel Mary's trembling. She could feel Mary's heart pounding, and she knew she was disheveling clothes and hair. Still, Elphaba held Mary.

After a few minutes, Mary gave in. Elphaba felt her body collapse under the weight of whatever was hurting her. Mary sunk to her knees in the frosty grass, and put her face in her hands and cried. She sobbed with everything in her. She shook with the force of it, and then tried desperately to wipe the tears away. Elphaba knelt beside her, keeping one arm over Mary's shoulders.

After some time, Mary tried to dry her eyes with the sleeve of her shirtwaist. In the process, her hair came loose once again and clung to her damp cheeks. In utter frustration and despair, she reached up and jerked the hairpins from her hair. Flinging them out into the darkness, she stormed back into the house and collapsed by the fire in absolute defeat. Elphaba followed, and then just stared at Mary, with her tangled hair falling around her wilted form.

A shocked Glinda threw a glance at Elphaba. Elphaba, who was quite startled herself, motioned for Glinda to come and sit near the fire. Elphaba then followed, sitting in front of Mary. Mary's sobbing eventually subsided, and she was very still. She stared at her hands, as if the crying had taken all the fight out of her. They stayed that way for a long time, with none of them speaking.

Eventually, Elphaba carefully said, "I am your friend, Mary, and there isn't anything you could tell me that's so bad that I would look down on you, or stop calling you friend."

Mary finally raised her head and stared into the fire, her face streaked with tearstains.

Glinda stood up then, and silently went to her satchel of belongings, which sat by the door. From the depths of her bag, she withdrew a hairbrush. She crossed back to where Mary sat and, in a gesture that was purely Glinda, she began to pull the brush through Mary's knotted hair. She carefully extracted the remaining hairpins as well, and Mary didn't protest. It was Glinda's way of showing compassion, and showing that she understood Mary's overzealous vanity.

While Glinda silently worked with the hairbrush, Elphaba confessed, "I have a son out of wedlock, Mary, and I haven't seen him in almost two years. My mother was an adulteress, many times over. I was the other woman myself, when Fiyero and I became lovers. He was married. And…I've been hurt terribly. I was raped. I was beaten for resisting. I nearly died. And, in turn, I've been violent. I've tried to kill…" she paused, "So…I won't judge you, Mary. Or dismiss your pain. I give you my word."

There was another long, pregnant pause, and then Mary began to speak. Her words were halting and quiet, but she spoke, "I'm afraid…I've wounded Bert horribly. And I've behaved…awfully," she took a deep breath, "I…I went to his room, in Mae's house…in the wee hours…in just a night coat. I…crawled into his bed…naked," Mary looked away, embarrassed, "And we…I mean I…we were…together…"

With compassion, Elphaba said, "I understand."

Mary wrung her hands, "I used him, Elphaba. I wanted to feel…something. I just…I needed someone…to touch me. And he's the only man I could ever imagine…even though I never thought that…I never thought about what it would be…like, but…I trust Bert."

"I can understand that, too," Elphaba whispered.

"But…I didn't want him to…see me. I didn't want him to see what happens when someone holds me… and you can only imagine what I looked like…after that. I couldn't bear to see him…disgusted with me. And I just didn't want to stop being…the perfect Mary that he loves. …"

Elphaba cocked her head, "But…you are the Mary that he loves."

Mary shook her head, "No. Mary Poppins is proper, refined, chaste, and in control of herself. She is perfectly put together, without spot or blemish. She commands both attention and respect. She is delicate and bold. She is full of magick and full of sense at the same time. She is…perfect…"

Elphaba thought for a moment, "And lovemaking is very imperfect, isn't it?"

Mary looked away again.

Elphaba said, "I am certain that Bert sees through the perfection, Mary."

Mary struggled with the next part, "What I've told you, though, isn't the worst of it. You see, I…I've tried to convince Bert that it was a dream. I accused him of lying and…lusting after me. I've denied the whole thing happening…until tonight. I've hurt him terribly, all just to keep up this fantasy…and now he's taken off to…to try to be good enough…for me."

Elphaba tried to be encouraging, "I'm sure he'll be all right, Mary. Like you said, Bert's not stupid."

Mary's voice was hollow when she replied, "No, he isn't. I am. I am incredibly stupid for not seeing what a good man he is. And for thinking I could convince him that it was a dream…"

There was another long pause, and then Glinda stopped brushing to speak up, "This sounds...just terrible, but what you're describing...is rape."

Elphaba gave her a concerned look, and Mary looked a little afraid.

"I know," Glinda went on, "it's a harsh word. But there's more than one kind of rape. There's the very literal definition, but there's also emotional rape. When we take from each other, emotionally or physically, without giving, when we act selfishly, we rape one another..."

"Glinda," Elphaba interjected, "that's awful..."

"No," Mary stopped her, "She's right."

Elphaba watched Mary fight back more tears.

"That's what I've done to Bert," Mary admitted very quietly.

There was another long pause, while they all struggled with the reality of the situation. A few more silent tears slid down Mary's face.

"And I cannot believe," Mary went on, "that I thought I could convince him he imagined it..."

With compassion, Elphaba said, "Something like that…is certainly memorable."

Mary looked at her hands and said, "I suppose that shows my inexperience…"

Elphaba hesitated, understanding, and then asked, "Do you regret it? Not the way you've hurt him, but being with him?"

Mary shook her head, "No. If it was anyone, it had to be him."

"And why is that?" Elphaba prodded.

"Because…" Mary struggled, "I do love him."

Elphaba smiled just a little, "Then, let's do this. Let's make a difference for Oz, and then you can tell him that."

Mary stared into the fire, silently. She very hesitantly reached out and took Elphaba's hand. Without her having to speak, Elphaba could hear Mary.

_Thank you._

It was something they'd discovered when demonstrating their powers. It had seemed most useful in keeping their communication secret, but now, it felt more like a bond.

_You're welcome, _Elphaba thought in return.

Then, she reached out and took Glinda's hand as well. They sat by the fire that way for some time, just the three of them, as the flames cast a surreal, flickering glow over their very different silhouettes. They were disheveled and cold, and far from the glittering ballgowns, the wheat fields of Kansas, and the rooftops of London that they knew. Still, the die was cast, and there was a war brewing. Come what may, it was time.


	17. Chapter 17

**Here's another installment. This one was hard to write. It just didn't want to come out. Here you are, though. **

**Enjoy.**

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* * *

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**Chapter 17**

The following morning, Elphaba, Mary, and Glinda parted ways to set their plan in motion. They didn't spend time on lengthy, emotional goodbyes. They all understood the enormity of what they were doing, and they understood the risks. They also all seemed to realize that there weren't enough words to communicate how they would feel if any one of them was lost. Glinda and Elphaba were more bonded than they'd ever been, and Mary seemed to have finally conceded that these women were her very dear friends. They were more than partners in a scheme. Yet, they walked away from each other silently. They took a page from Mary's book, and didn't waste time on sentiment. Still, their hearts ached, as they hoped to see one another on the other side of the fight.

Elphaba was off to the Vinkus, the area of Oz most dear to her heart. Her part of the mission was to gather all the militia from that area and prepare to defend Munchkinland. The area of the grasslands and what was known as the Vinkus were made up of nomadic people, both Animal and human. Most of those who lived in these areas were already somewhat against the Wizard and his successors, or were too removed from Ozian politics to care. Still, they were strong people, with excellent skills when it came to either hunting or war. So these humans and Animals were chosen to protect the less capable people of Munchkinland.

And Mary was off to Munchkinland. They had decided, when laying out their plan, that Mary was the most suited to lead their campaign there. Her sorcery skills would captivate and somewhat intimidate the Munchkin people. Yet her poise and polish would also impress them. They would need to be convinced that the militias coming from both among and to them were working for a cause that was in their best interest. Those same militias would be taking over the house of the governor, left empty after both Nessarose and her father had died. They needed the Munchkinlanders to see this as beneficial to them, especially when they made an ultimatum to the Emerald City.

They planned to threaten to keep the city cut off from both Restwater, and the grain crop of Munchkinland, unless Shell rescinded the Banns on the Animals. Elphaba knew very well that Shell would make no such concession, but it would throw the city into a panic. It would show the power of the Animal militia, and it would also cause Shell to mobilize the Gale Force. While they were scrambling to deal with the situation in the south, Glinda would launch their mission in Southstairs.

If all went well, they were going to take the prison from within. The Animals, and some of the rebel humans, had been armed secretly, while they were still prisoners. They were laying in wait for what would be a bloody mutiny, but would also, hopefully, finally expose Southstairs to the light of day. There were enough anti-government traitors and Animals in Southstairs to take the palace and the city, while the Gale Force was dealing with the looming civil war in Munchkinland. It was a well-planned insurrection, and should end in the rebels having control of all the resources in Oz. The only thing Elphaba felt wasn't planned as well as she'd hoped, was Glinda's safety.

"You're starting a war…you're walking into a battle. Remember that," Elphaba had said before they parted.

"I know, Elphie. But so are the two of you," Glinda said softly.

"But…you don't have the power to defend yourself, like we do."

"I'll be all right."

"Promise me you'll do what you have to, and then get out of the way?" Elphaba asked.

"I'll be careful, Elphie. I know what I'm doing."

"I just wish I'd been able to arrange for someone to…protect you."

"I've been protected my whole life," Glinda replied, "You have to trust me, this time."

"I know…" Elphaba sighed, hoping desperately that she wouldn't be losing her friend so soon after she'd found her again.

They parted ways then, each of them to their own corner of Oz, each to her own destiny.

* * *

The first part of their plan went seamlessly, as far as war is concerned. Elphaba led the Animals from the far southwestern edge of Oz to join the Vinkun tribes that had agreed to march with them. They had men and women of every age, every color, and species, each with the weapon of his or her choice. They met little resistance in the grasslands, but Elphaba had expected as much.

Mary was also able to sufficiently amaze the Munchkinlanders with her incredible powers, and her no-nonsense way of taking charge. Much the way they'd taken to Glinda, they took to Mary. They heard her grievances with the Ozian government, and accepted that she represented a group of dissidents wanting to find a compromise for the good of Oz. They were captivated by her magic, and couldn't resist the persuasive nature of her arguments.

When Elphaba finally led her militias into Munchkinland, she was impressed with how well Mary had made the transition from nanny to sorceress. Certainly, Mary had always had her magic, and she was excellent. Still, she was used to sheltered houses in London. She was accustomed to teaching children right from wrong. She was used to influencing families. Somehow, though, that discipline translated well into waging war. Mary was not afraid, or at least it didn't show, and she commanded attention. She embraced her power, instead of hiding it, and she drew a fearful respect out of the people. She also played to their sympathies, and pressed the Animals' plight to the forefront of everyone's attention.

And deep down, the Munchkins were more sympathetic to the Animals than they would admit. Certainly, there were negative feelings. They had come to resent what they saw as a drain on their resources, and a generation of indoctrination against the Animals had done little to help. However, the Munchkins were often seen as different, themselves. There had been times in Oz's history when they had been singled out for persecution. So, Mary played to that. She used what Elphaba had taught her, and offered the Munchkinlanders the promise of no longer having their resources drained to feed a needy, selfish city. She offered the possibility of a more balanced situation, and more power in a new government, for the Munchkin people. Coming from the lips of a beautiful, strong, gifted sorceress, they bought into the premise.

So, within a few weeks time, militias from all over southern Oz were gathered around Munchkinland and Restwater, prepared to cut off the Emerald City. The Quadlings from the south were providing support as well, to prevent the rogue effort from being cut off from the south. With their people in place and their resources secure, Elphaba and Mary conferred for the first time in weeks. Then, they sent word to Glinda at the palace in the form of a public proclamation.

The message they sent was dual in its purpose. It let Glinda know that all had gone as planned, and it offered an ultimatum to Shell. He could either step down and abdicate the throne, or lose the resources of Munchkinland and Restwater. And just as Elphaba had anticipated, Shell would not back down. Sensing that it was Elphaba behind the mutiny, he gathered the Gale Force and began to plan a return attack. He was playing directly into their hands. Within a few more days, an army of the Gale Force was heading towards Munchkinland for an all-out civil war.

So they waited, and prayed that battle would not be too bloody. They prayed not to lose too many lives before they were able to take Southstairs. They prayed for victory, swiftly. And on the fifth day after sending word to the Emerald City, the war began.

* * *

Two days into the battle, Glinda could feel the uneasiness in the air. The palace staff was on edge, and often missing. Many of the heads of security had been dismissed to the front of lines of what Shell thought was a fight to keep a decent food and water supply. Only Glinda knew what else was brewing. She stayed mostly to herself, though, pretending to be shocked and afraid of what was happening. She made the public announcements Shell gave her, and feigned terror that these rebels would take her life. She pretended to be afraid they might make an example of her. She thought it must be believable, as Shell seemed both protective of her, and annoyed at her feminine weakness.

Luckily, he was also too distracted to come calling for her late at night, or at midday when he ran out of things to do. It was one of the first times in quite some time that Glinda felt like her body belonged to her. She felt empowered and useful, rather than used.

_If I die in this, _she thought, _at least I'll die feeling like I overcame him. I won't die feeling like used goods…_

It was a thought that gave her a boost of positive energy. So she spent the remainder of the day praying for Elphaba and Mary's safety, and for change for Oz.

Near sunset on the second day of battle, Shell came to visit her in her quarters. Entering her sitting room without knocking, Glinda was surprised to see him dressed for both war, and travel.

"I'm going to Munchkinland, to try to talk down these rebels," he got straight to the point, "I want you to stay in the palace. This is getting dangerous, and you have no place in a battle."

Glinda was just considering whether she should protest, when three young soldiers entered the room.

"This is Herbert," Shell went on, indicating one of the soldiers, "he will be in charge of your protection, along with the others you know. He's just joined the force, along with a slew of others who don't want to see their city taken. He'll shoot to kill if anyone so much as enters the palace."

Glinda tried to conceal her shock. Herbert was most definitely Bert. He looked different, since he'd been scrubbed up and uniformed for the Gale Force. He was cleanly shaven, his hair was carefully combed, and his uniform was perfectly pressed. He absolutely looked the part of an enlistee. Still, he was Bert, and Glinda was very confused.

Still, she merely nodded her consent, pretending to be somewhat indifferent about the whole thing. Shell took his leave, then, and left her alone with Bert and the other guards. Bert sent the other guards outside the room, and then took his place inside the door. Glinda studied him for some time. She wasn't sure what to say, or if she should say anything. She didn't know him well enough to know what his motivations were, or where his loyalties really lay. She couldn't say if he had the guts to be a spy and a traitor, or if he had simply switched sides to spite Mary. Glinda didn't want to give away her plans, in case he genuinely intended to fight for the Gale Force, so she stayed quiet.

Shell's choice of Bert for her defense was also a commentary on what he really thought of her. Although Glinda knew that Shell found her useful, in more ways than one, she was clearly replaceable. It would certainly be inconvenient for him to lose her, since she was the face of his campaign and wrote or gave most of his speeches. Still, by assigning the newest enlistees to protect her showed that Shell had more important interests to protect than Glinda Upland of the Arduennas. It was a slap in her face, but Glinda let it go. She expected nothing less of Shell, or nothing more, for that matter. And having Bert guard her could be a great advantage, if he was still secretly on the side of Elphaba. If not, she supposed he could easily be overtaken. So the two of them stood there in awkward silence, until Glinda decided to retire early and get some sleep. She had a mutiny to start the next day, after all.

* * *

The following morning, at the first light, the insurrection in Southstairs began. While most of the Gale Force was trying to put down the rebellion in Munchkinland, the Animals and other prisoners of Southstairs mutinied. Armed with the weaponry Elphaba had supplied them, and with instructions to take control of the prison, rather than fleeing, they acted. Glinda got word of what was happening from a handful of Gale Force Privates, and a Lieutenant. They scuffled into her quarters mid-morning, and conversed in whispers with Bert for a few minutes.

Then, the Lieutenant addressed her, "There's been a disturbance in Southstairs. I'll be leaving Private Grissing and Private Aachen with you, as well as Private Alfred and your other guards. We've orders from His Holiness to keep you safe."

Glinda fought the urge to smirk.

After talking in whispers for another minute, the Lieutenant took his leave, and Glinda was left with the guards. They stared at each other uneasily for a few minutes.

Finally, Glinda spoke up, "Is that your name? Herbert Alfred?" she addressed Bert.

"It is," Bert answered flatly.

"And what brings you into the Gale Force, Herbert Alfred?" Glinda asked, giving him a hard look.

"The defense of yourself, Lady Glinda," Bert answered.

"You've enlisted to protect a woman? A harmless, political figurehead? Rather than to fight on the front lines?" Glinda questioned further.

"I think you underestimate your importance, Lady Glinda. And I do as I'm told," Bert answered carefully.

Glinda studied him, trying to determine where his loyalties lay. It was hard to say for sure, though, with him looking so different in the green and gold of the Gale Force.

After a time, Bert spoke again, "I'll do whatever is necessary to protect you, Lady Glinda. I've enlisted to fight for what I think is right. To protect that which the land of Oz, and my friends, hold most dear."

Glinda met his eyes, and they held each other's gaze for some time. Somewhere in the depths of his dark eyes, she saw the purity of his intentions. She also understood what the was trying to say, in making his previous statement. By using the word 'friends', Glinda knew where his loyalties lay. He very much intended to protect her, for the sake of Elphaba and Mary. He had, in fact, run away to try to make a difference. Still, what he was doing was terribly dangerous. One wrong move could get both he and Glinda shot. So she said nothing further, and gave no indication that she understood what he'd meant. She turned her attention to writing victory speeches for Shell, which seemed an appropriate task, should anyone come to check on her.

The rest of the day progressed in much the same way. Glinda kept to herself, and Bert and the other officers stared at her awkwardly. They followed her to lunch and out into the gardens when she decided she needed some fresh air. They were with her everywhere, and it was growing tiresome. Still, she played the part of a nervous ingénue, a role that was easy for her to fall back into.

And for the rest of the week, the battles raged on. The Ozian army fought to keep control of Munchkinland, while the remaining soldiers tried to keep control of Southstairs. It was clear, from the bits of conversation Glinda picked up, that they didn't understand how to handle such a rebellion in the prison. They had no idea how so many of those imprisoned had to come to be armed, and they didn't understand prisoners who didn't simply attack and flee. It was becoming more and more clear that this was not a prison break. This was not an attempt to be free. This was mutiny, and Glinda was certain that the word would reach Shell soon enough. She was sure he would begin to put the pieces together as to what was happening, and would react. Three days later, that very thing happened.

Shell came back into the city in a caravan of soldiers. Storming through the palace, he barked out orders to the officers. Then, they locked themselves in one of the drawing rooms in the palace and argued in hushed voices. They were clearly trying to plan a counter attack, having realized what they were facing. They understood this was not a civil war about water or food. This wasn't about disgruntled Munchkinlanders or unhappy prisoners. This was war, and it was a war that intended to abdicate him. So Shell began to desperately grasp for help from those better equipped than he to wage war.

Glinda, while Shell was distracted with panic, got ready. It was time for her to play her part. She dressed in black, which was altogether unusual for her. She pulled her soft curls back into a rather severe bun at her neck. She pulled on sensible boots under her simple, skirted, well-fitted dress. Then, she wound a red scarf around her waist. It was the touch that would define her, and would show what she stood for. It was the first time in her life that Glinda Upland, nee Galinda, the little blonde from Gillikin, was taking a stand. She was terrified, but it felt good. So she put her chin in the air. She sent word to Shell to meet her in the throne room, and then headed towards the center of the palace.

Even just walking through the palace, the guards Shell had left with Glinda followed her. They seemed nervous and on edge, and clutched their weapons tightly. Glinda knew they were very aware of what was taking place in Southstairs. They'd seen Shell trying to keep order, and they'd seen the disappearance of the soldiers who usually guarded palace entrance to the prison. Even Bert, who knew very little of Oz and of war, seemed hyper-aware of what was going on. He kept his eyes fixed on Glinda, though, and his weapon ready to defend her. She tried not to let her face give anything away as she entered the throne room. Then, she glanced up at the tall, ornately carved clocked to her right. It was time.

Within a few minutes, Elphaba and Mary appeared. The guards with Glinda jumped backward in shock as the two women appeared from nothing. Only Bert seemed unaffected. The other guards raised their muskets at the intruders, but were too terrified to shoot. With a wave of her hand, Mary whipped the muskets from their hands. Elphaba then gathered the artillery, leaving the guards defenseless. Glinda seized one of the weapons, trying not to show her uncertainty in handling such a thing. Then, Shell burst through the doors.

With another slew of soldiers behind him, officers this time, he stormed the throne room in anger and confusion, "What is going on here?" he demanded.

"This," Elphaba spoke up, "is your downfall, brother."

Shell smirked, "What? Three women and a musket?"

"You have no idea who you're dealing with," Elphaba answered ominously.

Shell studied them again, and he looked a little less certain.

Glinda was clearly no longer her fluffy, harmless self. Her slicked back hair and the line of her dark dress made her look more severe. She also cocked the musket, as Elphaba had taught her, with a resounding click. Mary held Shell in a hard gaze, her eyes flashing with vendettas for all the families he had destroyed. Her black coat was fastened over a black skirt and a dark, grey shirtwaist. The touch of crimson ribbon at her neck was the only color she sported, today. Elphaba was equally imposing in a full-skirted black dress with a high collar. The beadwork on the front was cut through with blood red beads, tying her to both Mary and Glinda. On her head was the pointed hat that had once identified her as a witch. Now, it was the mark of a heroine. They were clearly united, and their actions clearly intentional.

As Shell took in each of them, and then saw them as a whole, he realized what was happening. They could see on his face the slow recognition, when he realized this had all been carefully planned. He understood the stand they were taking, and how much of Oz must be involved. Shell realized he wasn't dealing with random events and disgruntled prisoners. This was a war with very specific intentions, and he understand that there would be no compromise.

"You are removed from the throne, Shell Thropp," Elphaba stated harshly, "Tell your guards to stand down."

"I'll do no such thing," he spat in return.

Elphaba took a step forward, "Your army is losing in Munchkinland. We've got the support of the southern peoples, and your armies will be driven beyond Restwater in days. Then, you'll have no water. Your city is in chaos. We've effectively taken Southstairs and, if you'll look to the west, you'll see the worst parts of the prison are in flames. You can thank my outstanding ability with incendiary spells for that. Your defense has broken down and most of your soldiers aren't willing to fight for a leader they don't like or understand. Most of you palace guards defected easily, especially knowing that _His Holiness_ essentially kept a concubine in the palace. So I'm going to ask you again…to step down."

Shell held his ground, "Not as long as I have breath."

"All right, then," Elphaba answered evenly.

From behind the three women appeared a pack of Wolves. They had emerged from the depths of the prison, through the interior palace entrance. Once held captive for crimes they did not commit, they were now free, and had very little to lose. They were huge Animals, nearly five-foot at the ears, with bared teeth and powerful jaws.

Shell's soldiers, including the guards who'd come with Glinda, cocked their weapons as they backed away a bit. Bert moved with them, watching the scene carefully.

Mary caught site of Bert then, and her expression faltered momentarily. All the same questions Glinda had asked herself flickered across Mary's face in the course of a few moments. Then, realizing that she could do nothing in this situation to question Bert without jeopardizing everyone, Mary set her features back into grim resolve. As Shell took a step towards them, she swept her hand in front of herself in a wide arc.

With just that gesture, the muskets flew from the hands of officers who had come in with Shell. Now, all of his guards stood behind him, scrambling for their weapons. Mary then turned her focus to Shell. Fixing him with a hard gaze, she raised her hand again and he was at her mercy. He stumbled forward at Mary's will, ending up just in front of the women. Elphaba conjured up a magicked rope, then, to bind him, and Glinda aimed the musket at Shell's head. Satisfied, Elphaba turned her attention back to the guards and officers.

Calling up fire to do her will, she began to throw it at them in white hot bursts that threatened to send them up in flames. They scattered, forgetting their weapons and stumbling over themselves in the chaos. Elphaba then motioned for Mary to slam the doors to the throne room closed. Trapped, the Gale Force members turned around in panic. Mary then waved her hands, causing all the weapons to scitter across the floor towards the three women. Their magick was only so effective at dodging bullets, and so they needed the guards and officers unarmed.

Thinking they had all the artillery, Elphaba addressed the Gale Force, "We now have your leader, Shell Thropp. You've fought valiantly for him, until the end, but he's not a leader worth fighting for. You are relieved of that duty. You have two choices now. Either serve Oz's new leader, or join Shell in Southstairs, which is now under our control."

The soldiers glanced at each other, uncertain and afraid. They glanced at their weapons, and some showed a touch of anger. No one answered for some time. Then, suddenly, from the corner of the room, came the click of a pistol being cocked. Elphaba, Mary, and Glinda looked in the direction of the noise, and saw one remaining soldier. He stood in the shadows, with his gun aimed at Glinda.

"Set His Holiness free," the soldier said shakily.

Elphaba stared to answer, when another soldier stepped out from the group. He raised his gun towards Glinda, and then made a quick and sudden turn. There was an intake of breath when a shot was fired. Glinda's heart jumped into her throat, yet she felt nothing. The soldier with the pistol in the corner slumped to the ground. In her panic, she shifted the musket she had aimed at Shell, and fired towards the soldier who'd stepped out of the group. It took her just a moment to realize that it was Bert who'd stepped out. He'd been trying to defend her, as he'd said, and she'd shot at him. Before she could react, however, chaos broke out.

The Wolves, who were told to stay back unless the three women were threatened, charged and attacked. In a few moments, it was nearly impossible to tell who'd fired upon whom. It was a bloody, awful fight, and Glinda turned her face away. She kept her eyes and her weapon on Shell, who now looked panic-stricken.

After a few minutes, when the fighting drew to a close, Elphaba gestured to Glinda, "Give me the musket. Mary and I will take Shell to his assigned place, in Southstairs. Collect the weapons and bring anyone who survives this down with you," Elphaba instructed.

Glinda handed over the musket, and watched as Elphaba used it to force Shell towards the entrance to Southstairs. Mary, however, stood motionless for a moment. Her face was very pale, and Glinda knew she understood what had happened. She knew that Bert lay somewhere amidst the dead and wounded, yet there was no time for questions. There was, very literally, no time for sentiment. So Glinda watched her stoically turn and follow Elphaba. Then, Glinda was alone.

The Wolves hovered over the bodies of the guards, exhausted. Most of the weapons lay towards the center of the room, where Mary had magicked them. After a minute, Glinda carefully moved amongst the dead and dying, making sure there was nothing left to arm a survivor. She took the pistol from the motionless hand of the soldier in the corner, who'd taken aim at her. She dropped it in the center of the room, with the other weapons. The Wolves helped, sniffing for gunpowder, until they felt they had all the weaponry. Then, Glinda looked for survivors.

In a moment, she turned from warrior to nurse. With the violence over, she now felt it was her duty to tend to any survivors. They were, after all, human. Even if all they wanted was to have their suffering ended quickly, they deserved that. Glinda was determined to set an example of mercy, even in war. So she checked each of the bodies, trying not to show her fear and nausea over the entire situation. She tried not to cry as their blood ended up on her clothes.

It was several minutes before she came upon Bert. He lay motionless, with some of the others, and he was covered in blood. Glinda touched him, and tried to determine if he was dead. She tried to find his injuries, whatever they might be. She had no idea if she had, in fact, shot him. She tired to determine if he was breathing. The only thing she could see for sure is that he was bleeding from a gash to his left arm. She could get no response, however, and she started to tremble. The enormity of all of it began to settle on Glinda, and she was losing her courage. Looking at the carnage around her, she wished it hadn't had to come to this. She wished for peace, finally.

Feeling utterly defeated, in spite of their victory, Glinda lead the Wolves back out of the throne room. She left the weaponry piled in the center of the room, because she lacked the strength or the manpower to carry it. Wearily, she led the Animals back down into the depths of Southstairs. Just beyond the guard stations and makeshift gates, Glinda found Elphaba and Mary. They had the remaining Gale Force soldiers from inside the prison held at gunpoint, courtesy of a militia of opposable-thumbed apes. The soldiers, however, looked like they had very little fight left in them.

Glinda approached Elphaba and Mary, saying, "There's no one left…in there."

"No one?" Mary asked ominously.

Glinda shook her head.

Elphaba spoke up in alarm, taking in the blonde's appearance, "Glinda…? Is that your blood?"

She shook her head, "No…it's theirs. I checked…there's no one…"

Elphaba dipped her chin, understanding.

After a moment, Mary very softly said, "Bert…"

Glinda, feeling a crushing weight at having to deliver such news, shook her head again, "There was just so much blood…"

Mary said nothing else, and set her chin resolutely in the air. Her eyes, however, were glossy with tears.

* * *

Elphaba and Mary returned to the safe house that night. They were waiting on a messenger from Munchkinland to bring news, once the people were told that Shell had been deposed. They needed to know if the people would support Lady Glinda in ruling until Oz could peaceably choose their own leadership. The Animal leaders would also convene at this location in the next few days and report on the status of their parts of Oz. They would then return as messengers to describe the new leadership, and negotiate what was in the best interest of each corner of the land.

So Elphaba and Mary left Glinda secure in the palace with Animal guards, to decide how to address the people of the city the next day. The Animal militias and those who'd been freed from the prison turned the tables on the Gale Force, and locked them in cells that had once been used for Animals. Knowing things were going in their favor, Elphaba and Mary needed some distance to plan how to handle the transition of leadership.

It wasn't until they got to the safe house that Elphaba realized how distraught Mary was. When they got inside, in the same room where they'd sat by the fire just weeks previous, Mary dropped to her knees. A few sobs escaped her throat, and then she stood and furiously wiped her face.

"No! I will not cry over this! This is my own fault, and I've no one but myself to blame!" Mary said through clenched teeth.

"Mary…" Elphaba said carefully.

Mary finally looked at Elphaba, "Don't tell me it's not my fault! Don't placate me! Bert is _dead_! Because of me!"

Elphaba drew a breath, "None of us told him to run off and join the Gale Force. None of us knew that he was going to be there..."

"He was trying to protect Glinda!" Mary argued, "Don't you see? He was trying to do something that…mattered."

Elphaba put the pieces together, then, "You think that's why he was there?"

"I'm sure of it," Mary said softly.

There was a pause, before Elphaba spoke, "Mary…you didn't make him do that. He chose for himself…"

"_Everything_ he did was for me!" Mary exploded, "That crazy, wonderful man would've done _anything_ for me! I didn't understand it, but he loved me that…blindly! And…"

Mary's voice caught again, and the sobs tried to escape. She bit them back, though, and Elphaba could see how much she hurt.

After a moment, Elphaba said, "It's okay to cry, Mary…"

"And what bloody good will tears do now?" Mary screamed.

Elphaba had no answer.

Mary's tone was suddenly dark, "I've done my part. I've served my purpose. Let me be."

With that, Mary stormed out. Still dressed in black from the events of the day, she fled through the back doors and into the gardens. Elphaba let her go, knowing there was nothing she could say, or do. She let Mary be, because grief was often solitary, at first. Still, she told herself she would sit up and wait, because the wildness in Mary's eyes had scared her more than a little.

* * *

Outside, Mary ran until she was out of breath. She ran past the gardens and out of the courtyard into the open fields. Mindless of the cold or the danger, she ran. The tears tried to come, but she fought them back. She didn't feel like she deserved the solace of tears. Then, finally, she stopped and tried to catch her breath.

Standing in the middle of the open field, Mary tried very hard to calm her trembling. She felt like she might burst at any moment, spewing out all the anger and tears in spite of herself. She'd reached some sort of critical breaking point, she realized. She'd always managed to keep herself even, to choose against the sentiment and the emotion in life. Lately, she felt less and less able to choose. And now, she'd managed to cause the death of her one, true friend. The one person who was always there for her, who always made her laugh and who tolerated her unconventional life, was gone. She'd toyed with Bert's emotions, used him selfishly, and now he was gone. It was too much to bear.

Mary had built her life on helping people, on making things right. She'd given up everything else for the families for whom she worked, wanting their happiness to be enough for her. She'd agreed to help Elphaba on the same premise. The Animals of Oz did deserve their freedom. They deserved the chance to make their own lives, to have the same rights and opportunities as everyone else.

Somehow, though, in working with Elphaba, the green girl had forced Mary to look at herself. She'd forced Mary to see the emptiness within herself that couldn't be filled vicariously, through teaching others to love. Elphaba had made her want things she'd long since written off as unnecessary or impossible. She'd made the imperfect, messiness of life seem almost appealing, and she'd made Bert bolder. Elphaba's wild, passionate way of going about things had influenced him, and he'd pressed his advantage a little.

And Mary had succumbed, because she simply wasn't that perfect. She hadn't wanted to go out of this world without ever knowing what it was like to be touched. Yet she couldn't bring herself to admit it. She was too ashamed. It felt too needy, too easy, and too weak. What she'd done went against everything she thought she believed, and she couldn't bear for Bert to see his perfect Mary covered in ugly bruises. So Mary had tried to make him believe it had been a dream. She'd wanted Bert to think he'd had a wonderful dream, so that she could maintain her chastity in his eyes. It was terribly selfish, and now, there could be no recompense. He was gone. Forever. Dead.

There was nothing she could do. Even Mary's magick wasn't that strong. She couldn't bring him back, couldn't undo it. So she stared at the limitless sky, and ached. She hurt so badly she trembled. She could feel her humanity in the pain. She knew, in that moment, that she was part this world, and she'd never felt so very earthbound. She could no longer deny that she wasn't so different than the people of earth, and Oz. She might not belong wholly to either place, but Elphaba had been right. She could feel. She could cry. She could love, laugh, and lose. And those were the things that made a person belong. Mary ached at the realization.

When two tears escaped and made their way down her face, she furiously wiped them away. Looking up at the stars, she longed for them more fervently than usual. So she spread her arms and let herself soar up into the heavens. Feeling the rush of wind on her face, Mary rose higher and higher. She aimed for the sky until the land below her became small and unimportant. Pressing further than she ever had, she wanted only to be surrounded by the stars. She remembered her own sentiment, then, from months previous.

_I have very often wondered…what would it be like, to drown in starlight? _

More than anything, that's what she wanted, now. She wanted to drown in starlight, and find Bert on the other side of the heavens.

So she pushed herself higher, where the air became thinner and it was harder to get a deep breath. Mary pushed higher, up into the clear night sky. Even as she felt her head spinning and her vision blurring, she pushed higher. With one final burst of magic, she soared upward. The stars, blazing brighter than they'd ever been, were the last thing she saw before the darkness took her.


	18. Chapter 18

**An observation of mine...It seems that the world of comic books and superheroes has embraced a concept that I think is just beautiful - the multiverse. It's grand...multiple versions of the same characters and stories existing alongside one another without anyone crying paradox or literary conflict. How awesome is it to see how a character navigates different experiences, even different lives? How much fun is it to have more than one telling of the same story? How wonderful is it to revisit the same character over and over? It's one of the fundamental joys of fanfiction...I think. I wish every story could be retold, now and then. And it's one of the ways P.L. Travers was convinced to let Mary Poppins become a film and a show, because each work exists independently of the others. Each version of Mary, or any story, stands alone, to be appreciated for what it offers, without adding or taking away from the other. Or so I think.**

**Anyhoo...I hope you enjoy. This chapter was rather difficult as well, because it is...heavy. So...read and review. :-)**

**Cat **

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**Chapter 18**

The following morning, Elphaba was pulled from sleep by a loud rapping on the front door of the safe house. Trying to focus on her surroundings, she realized she'd fallen asleep in one of the moth-eaten chairs in front of the fireplace. Her neck hurt, and she was still fully clothed. Elphaba was also sure her hair was a disheveled mess. She didn't much care, however. In the moment, she was only concerned about who might have coming looking for herself and Mary. It was a bit early for the messengers from Munchkinland, or any of the Animal leaders. She only hoped nothing had gone wrong in the city, or at the palace. She hoped all their sacrifice had not been in vain. So, with a deep breath, she smoothed her clothes and headed towards the front door.

When she pulled the door open, Elphaba nearly jumped back in surprise. It took her a full minute or two to realize what she was seeing. Standing on the front steps of the old mauntery was Glinda, with a very bedraggled Bert beside her. He was wearing the trousers and boots from his Gale Force uniform, but his shirt was one of his own. He had on a borrowed coat from someone a bit taller than him, and his clothes were still spattered with blood. His face was pale, his expression weary, but his eyes were hopeful.

"What in Oz name?" Elphaba finally managed to get out.

"He's alive," Glinda said, too tired to make a bigger production of it, "Somehow, he survived. When we went back, to try to create some order in the palace, he was wandering around…"

Bert tried to smile, "Miss Glinda shot at me, I believe. It grazed my neck, 'ere. And then one of those Wolves knocked me pretty 'ard. He gave me a pretty good gash, in my arm…and I supposed I blacked out…"

"He was bleeding pretty badly, when I found him…" Glinda said softly, "I suppose I should've checked more thoroughly when I left the throne room…but there was just so much blood, and so many bodies…" she looked away, struggling with the graphic memory.

Elphaba took a deep breath, feeling the initial shock wearing off. She was still amazed that Bert had survived, but there had, in fact, been a great deal of chaos. And she'd left Glinda with a horrible task in determining if all the guards had been killed. Glinda was stronger, and more resilient, than Elphaba had ever imagined, but she didn't have the knowledge of Life Sciences that Elphaba had. It would be easy for her to assume that Bert was among the dead.

So Elphaba took another breath and said to Glinda, "He's alive. That's what matters. Don't keep reliving the carnage. And did you travel all night?"

Glinda nodded, "Yes. Bert was very distraught…when I told him that Mary thought he was…dead."

Elphaba's mind suddenly raced as she tried to remember if she'd checked on Mary before she fell asleep. She felt a twinge of fear, as she realized she'd last seen Mary storming out the rear door of the mauntery the night before. Elphaba had meant to find her and try to comfort her, but she'd fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion. Now, she hoped Mary had come inside and gotten some sleep herself.

Taking Bert's hand and jerking him inside, Elphaba said, "We've got to find Mary."

"If she's asleep…let 'er rest. I'll still be 'ere…" Bert tried to argue.

"No. She's terribly upset. I could tell. She scared me last night," Elphaba snapped, "She has to know."

Bert had no answer, and Glinda followed them uncertainly. Elphaba swept through the house, banging on doors and checking all the bedrooms. Swearing under her breath, Elphaba went down the hallways, checking each room and calling Mary's name. She searched all the closets and corners, looking anywhere Mary might've found to hide. She scurried up into the attic and checked the cavernous space. Then, she came clattering back down, her long hair loose and flying behind her.

"Check the rooms downstairs," she ordered.

Too tired to argue and growing concerned themselves, Bert and Galinda went down the stairs and searched the first floor. Bert was moving slowly, from injury and fatigue, but they checked the parlor and the gathering room. They checked the kitchen, the dining rooms, and the servants' quarters. Finally, they met Elphaba again as she came from checking the pantries.

"She's not here," Glinda said in a small voice.

"Where in Oz would she go?" Elphaba said with frustration and fear in her voice.

Just then, Bert looked upward, knowing Mary better than all of them.

"The roof," Elphaba said softly.

Hurrying outside, they ran out into the scrubby yard so they all had a good view of the pitched and gabled roof. There was no sign of Mary. So they all stood there, dumbfounded, tired, and worried.

"Are you sure she was 'ere with you? Last night?" Bert asked softly.

"Yes," Elphaba snapped, "It was only the two of us…and she was…upset."

There was a pause before Bert said, "She's Mary. She's been doing this since I've known 'er. She's disappeared more times than I'd like to remember. Sometimes, she just…goes."

Elphaba considered his words, and then she reached out and took Bert and Glinda's hands. Without a word of explanation, she jumped them to the empty plains of Kansas, and then focused hard on Mary. Concentrating on locating her friend, she leapt all of them back into Oz, hoping.

Looking around at where they'd ended up, Elphaba was disheartened. They were in the fields just beyond the Mauntery, not far from where they'd started.

"Maybe it didn't work…" she muttered.

Bert looked around, understanding what Elphaba had done. Still, he was confused himself. Scanning the scraggly grass in the muted, cloudy morning, he felt a sense that something was wrong. Elphaba should have been able to focus on Mary and jump them to where she was. It was a skill both Mary and Elphaba had become quite adept at. It made running from each other nearly impossible.

As they all silently looked around, something caught Bert's eye. It looked like it might be a shadow, or a log left in the brush. Walking towards it, however, he felt a heaviness in his chest. As he got closer, his throat felt tight and very dry. It was a person. He was definitely walking toward a person lying in the grass. He could only hope it was some casualty of the recent battle, or perhaps a farmer who'd had too much to drink and wandered too far from home.

However, when he got maybe fifty paces away, Bert was sure that it was her. He knew her silhouette too well. Running toward her, he stopped a few feet away and felt a rush of nausea. Elphaba and Glinda caught up and stood just behind him, and they were all very quiet.

Mary lay there, motionless. She was sprawled on her back, with one arm laid, almost delicately, across her chest. Her black coat was still pristine, her boots still shiny. Her hair was only slightly out of place, and she still wore her gloves. And, except for being devoid of all color, her features were still flawless. Her eyes were closed, as if in peaceful slumber. She looked like a sculpted doll, laid out in the early morning light. Bert's breath caught, and he felt a crushing pain in his chest as he looked at her.

"Sweet Oz…" Elphaba said softly behind him, and there was sorrow in her voice.

"What do you think…?" Glinda asked in a small voice.

Bert grit his teeth as pain turned to anger, "Who would do this?" he choked out.

After a long moment, Elphaba answered, "No one."

"What?" Glinda squeaked.

Taking a long breath, Elphaba took another step towards Mary. Kneeling down, she carefully took Mary's hand that lay across her chest, and turned it over, "She did it. She fell," she answered the question.

"From where?" Galinda asked, looking around in confusion.

"From the sky," Elphaba explained.

Bert's voice was laced with bitter emotion as he said, "She told me once…she told me…that, if she had to die, she wanted to drown in the starlight…"

"I think she flew until she was too high to breathe," Elphaba expounded, "I think she just aimed for the stars and eventually…lost consciousness."

"But why?" Glinda breathed, "We won the battle…for the Animals…"

Elphaba gave her a look, and then nodded toward Bert.

After another moment, he said, "It's me. It was me," his voice caught, "she thought I was dead…"

None of them could find anything else to say, then. The realization was too much. It was too horribly, tragically ironic. So Elphaba simply ran her fingers over Mary's wrist, feeling for her heartbeat, hoping.

"It was a long fall…" she said, somewhat pathetically.

After a few minutes of searching, Elphaba thought she might have a faint pulse. She felt a spark of hope, but it was hard to be sure.

"She might not be…I just need to examine her…I mean, I'm a doctor to animals, anyway…" Elphaba stuttered, her confidence shaken.

With his face still set in a painful grimace, Bert took action. Having spent so many years wanting to hold Mary, wanting to have her in his arms and take care of her, he now acted. He was through with denial, and with pretending. He loved her, wholly, and if this was her end, he would show how much she meant to him. It ripped him apart to see this, to perhaps lose her, but he wouldn't pretend anymore. If anyone was to take care of her, it would be him.

So Bert knelt down and very carefully lifted her into his arms. Trying his best not to jostle her more than was inevitable, he stood up. For someone who was just a bit taller than him, she was lighter than he expected. Without a word, he turned and headed toward the Mauntery. Both Elphaba and Glinda followed in silence. As he walked, Bert couldn't hold back his feelings any longer. With Mary in his arms, so lifeless and pale, and knowing how she must have felt about him to have done this, the tears fell. Unable to wipe them away, they ran down his cheeks in salty rivulets, blurring his vision.

Elphaba watched, and, in her own way, understood his pain. She'd lost Fiyero once, and she knew how it felt to grieve. She knew how much he hurt. She knew what it felt like, when a lot of things were left unsaid. So she walked behind him, and hoped for Bert that Mary was not dead. She hoped that, somehow, Mary's magic might have spared her.

* * *

"Elphie…what do we do?" Glinda asked some time later, once Elphaba had been able to look Mary over.

They were standing around the well-worn sofa, where Mary lay, in the living room of the old house. Each of them looked equally stricken as Elphaba finished a quick examination. Elphaba thought she'd found a faint heartbeat. Then, using a trick she'd learned when treating larger Animals, she had pricked Mary and found that she was still able to bleed.

"Bleeding means her blood is moving," she explained to Bert and Glinda, "so she's alive… for now."

"But…she can't stay here…like this…not in the middle of a revolution..." Glinda spoke up again.

"I know," Elphaba sighed, rubbing her eyes, "but I can't disappear and leave Oz in this state, either."

"I'll be with 'er," Bert interjected, "wherever she is. Just get 'er someplace safe, and I'll stay with 'er."

Elphaba took a deep breath, "I know that, Bert, but she needs a doctor's attention. And I'm the closest thing to that that we have right now."

There was a long, quiet pause, then.

Finally, Glinda said, "I'll stay, Elphie. I'll wait for the Animal leaders and the other messengers. I'll arrange a summit in the Emerald City in a few days time. Surely, you can return by then."

Elphaba studied her friend, "It will be dangerous. Until you have the full backing of the Gale Force and the people of Oz, there could easily be assassins…"

"I know, but I'm not afraid," Glinda answered softly.

Elphaba was quiet for another few moments. She saw the raw determination in Glinda's face. She saw a girl-turned-woman who was very changed, and she believed Glinda would do as she promised.

So Elphaba nodded her consent. Then, she made quick work of gathering hers and Mary's things. She said a quick goodbye to Glinda, not wanting to linger. Elphaba was too afraid she would finally break down from all the turmoil of the past two days. So she busied herself with what had to be done. Finally, she indicated that Bert should carefully pick up Mary once more. Once he complied, Elphaba leapt them both back to Kansas.

Once there, they hurried across the yard and into the farmhouse. It was just after dawn in Kansas, and the farmhands were out preparing for the spring planting already. Bert followed Elphaba as they walked, trying to be as careful with Mary as possible. Elphaba led the way into the house, where Mae was working to prepare breakfast.

She turned at the sound of the door opening and startled, "Good Lord! I certainly didn't expect you back today!"

Elphaba continued across the room with merely a nod as a greeting.

Mae caught sight of Bert, then, and realized he was carrying Mary, "What's happened? Bert…you're covered in blood!"

Elphaba spoke up, "It was a battle, Mae. A horrible, bloody battle. And we nearly lost Bert. It was as dirty and political as we thought. Everyone did the best they could…but…things didn't go perfectly."

"And our Mary was in this bloody battle?" Mae asked fearfully.

"Yes, but she came out of that mostly unscathed," Elphaba finally stopped and looked in Mae's eyes, "I'm afraid…that she's done _this_ to herself."

Mae looked both confused and alarmed.

"Right now…I just need a bed. Downstairs," Elphaba requested wearily.

Mae nodded, and led the way to the servant's quarters just off of the kitchen. It wasn't used, since Mae did her own cooking and the farmhands had their own, separate house. The bed was clean, though, and the fireplace was ready for fresh wood. Mae turned down the quilts and went to fetch some wood to warm the space. Bert followed Elphaba into the room, and carefully laid Mary down on the bed.

Then, Bert just stared her, feeling frozen in place as Elphaba and Mae bustled around him. They lit the fire and stoked the logs. Mae disappeared again and returned with a heavy quilt. Elphaba carefully arranged Mary's limbs, trying to minimize injury. Then, as the room started to get warm, there was a long, very still moment. They all stood there, staring at Mary, utterly unsure of how to proceed.

Eventually, Elphaba said, "I'm going to have to look at her…more in depth…to know what we should do, if anything…"

Understanding what she meant, Bert said, "I'll wait in the living room."

Meeting his eyes, Elphaba said, "I don't know that there's any harm, in you staying. You know her better than all of us, after all…"

When she met his eyes and held his gaze, Bert realized that she _knew_. How, he wasn't sure. He could only assume Mary must've had told her. He was surprised that she would trust Elphaba with such a secret, that she would be able to admit to her new friend what had been so difficult to admit to Bert himself. Some how, though, Elphaba knew he and Mary had been intimate. So he considered what Mary would want.

As he struggled, Elphaba said, "She loves you, Bert. I'm sure of that."

Bert felt a tug at his heart that was somewhere between a fullness and an ache. It was such a bittersweet statement, given the circumstances.

After another moment, he said, "No. Not without her permission. I'll wait in the living room."

Respecting his decision, Elphaba nodded. Then, Bert turned and disappeared back through the doorway.

Glancing at Mae, Elphaba wordlessly asked for her help. Then, she started carefully removing Mary's clothes. The heavy coat came off, along with her boots and the dark skirt. Elphaba and Mae worked together to get the buttoned, tailored shirtwaist off of Mary's limp body. Then, they pulled off the underskirt and the heavy stockings. Finally, Mary lay there in just her knee-length undergarments and her corseted camisole. Elphaba stopped, feeling she didn't need to go further.

"Sweet Oz…" she exclaimed as she really looked at Mary.

Mae's breath caught as well.

Mary's body was covered in dark, mottled bruises. From her shoulders to her toes, she was discolored and, in some places, swollen. It was a horrible sight, and one that didn't offer much in the way of hope. Elphaba began to work her hands over Mary's body, looking for injury in the same way she usually did with large animals. After some time, she stepped away, clearly disheartened by what she'd discovered.

While Elphaba struggled with explanation, Mae crossed the room and retrieved the quilt she'd set aside. Very carefully, she covered Mary. Elphaba turned and left them room then, to fetch Bert.

Finding him by the larger fireplace in the living room, she said, "You need to see this."

Bert looked torn, and started to protest.

"She's covered," Elphaba clarified, "but you need to see at least part of this."

Bert conceded with a little nod, and then followed Elphaba back into the room off the kitchen. She crossed to Mary and very carefully uncovered just one of her arms. She saw the alarm and grief on Bert's face as he took in all the bruising.

Looking from Bert to Mae, Elphaba said, "She has a lot of fractures…I've lost count. She could be bleeding…inside. And I can't say why she's unconscious, or how long she'll stay that way. This is beyond what I know how to treat…"

Mae crossed the room and put her hand on Elphaba's arm, saying, "You can only do what you can, Elphie…"

"I know…" Elphaba replied somewhat hollowly.

Bert just stood there, silent in his devastation.

After a moment, Mae asked, "How did she do this?"

With a sigh, Elphaba explained, "She fell…from the sky. She must've flown up there, until she…lost consciousness."

In a voice wrought with emotion, Bert stated, "It was because of me. She thought…she thought I was dead. If I 'adn't been so determined to prove something to 'er, or to myself…if I'd stayed out of it, like she wanted…"

Elphaba and Mae waited silently, as he struggled.

After a moment, Elphaba said, "What you did Bert…was quite brave. And we're all grateful…you saved Glinda's life…"

Bert nodded, but didn't look very encouraged. When he spoke again, he stated, "Mary told me once that…she wanted to drown in starlight…if…if she 'ad to die…"

"What a horribly sad thing to think of," Mae said very softly.

"I didn't think she really meant it…literally," Bert added.

There was a quiet pause, as they all considered the sentiment.

Finally, Elphaba broke the silence by saying, "There's more to these injuries than just falling, though. Mary…she has something about her…in her anatomy…something that makes her wound very easily. It's related to being a child of both worlds, I believe…like our water allergy…and my coloring. I don't completely understand what it is that's different, if it's superficial or a deeper anomaly, but I know that it bothers her terribly."

"It hurts her?" Mae asked.

Elphaba shook her head, "I don't think so…especially. She's ashamed of it, though. Horribly ashamed. But, given the circumstances, I have no choice but to tell you. So…she's going to be devastated that you know…if she wakes up. You should both know that."

Bert looked more upset, and Mae just nodded.

"We'll be sensitive to her," Mae promised, "_when_ she wakes up."

"Then I suppose there's nothing more I can do…for now," Elphaba whispered.

"There may not be…" Mae made no attempt to disguise the truth.

Elphaba sighed, "I have to go back to Oz. I have to help Glinda establish order, or all of this will be in vain…"

Mae nodded, "Then go. I'll be here…for whatever happens…"

Elphaba swallowed hard, not wanting to talk about losing Mary. She'd just begun to call her a friend, after all.

So Elphaba looked from Mae to Bert and said, "I'll stay through tonight, because I know enough to know that these first hours will be critical, but I have to go back. And there's nothing else I can do, for now…"

Bert met her eyes, and slowly nodded.

"Come get me…if she stirs," Elphaba instructed.

Then, because she was so terribly equipped at handling tragedy, Elphaba turned on her heel and fled. She did not say goodbye or expound any further. She didn't offer any words of comfort that might prove false, or give herself a chance to cry. She simply fled to her own house for the afternoon, and Bert and Mae were left in the silence.

* * *

The day passed slowly, with little change in Mary. Mae checked on her periodically, and brought Bert warm coffee. He refused to leave the room, in spite of Mae's insistence that he needed a break. He simply sipped at the coffee, and watched Mary's very slow breathing. Elphaba stayed away, presumably resting at her house with Fiyero, and perhaps avoiding the tragedy she could do nothing to change.

That night, Bert was afforded some sleep only because he took a liberal dose of Mary's magick tonic. He'd found it in her carpet bag, after some searching. He hoped she wouldn't mind that he'd taken some, but he'd been desperate for something to calm him. Bert had barely noticed that it tasted much more sour than usual, because he was mentally and physically exhausted. Once the tonic had taken effect, he'd managed to sleep for a few hours in the soft chair by the bed.

While he was asleep, perhaps because of the tonic, he had one of the most vivid dreams he'd experienced in some time. It was a dream inspired by a very specific memory, brought out of his subconscious and embellished, the way dreams often are.

In the depths of sleep, he found himself in the park in London, some years previous. It was winter, in a year that had seen more than the average amount of snowfall. He'd gone to the park in search of work that day, hoping to find some frustrated, upper-class residents who needed their chimneys freed of dust and debris. While leaning against one of the bare, snow-dusted trees, he'd caught sight of Mary. He never knew when he would see her, at that point, and so catching a glimpse of her was always a wonderful surprise.

She was in the park alone, perhaps between jobs or taking a day off while one of her families went on a brief holiday. She was standing in a clearing on the outskirts of the park, where there were few people. The snow-covered ground was dappled with buttery sunlight, and Mary was standing very still in the muted light. She had her eyes closed, as though she was simply enjoying the feeling of the snow falling around her. Mary had a way of doing that, Bert had come to understand. She seemed to be able to _feel_ the world around her in a way no one else could, as though the very fabric of things spoke to her.

That day, Bert remembered that he'd stared at her for some time, not wanting to break the spell. After a long time, thinking she was entirely alone, Mary began to move gracefully in the falling snow. She moved in a sort-of waltz, with a little smile on her lips as she relished the crisp, beauty of nature. In the dream, as it had happened in reality, Bert approached her slowly, so that only the crunch of his boots in the snow gave away his presence.

It was at this point that the dream veered from reality. On that day, so many years ago, Mary had startled upon seeing him, and quickly composed herself. She'd straightened her coat and brushed past him, only chatting briefly with him as he followed her through the park. She'd refused to acknowledge dancing in the snow. In his dream, however, he waltzed with her. Mary reached out and took his hands, and he whirled with her in their own, personal wonderland. They moved seamlessly, together, until they were both breathless. Finally, when they stopped, Bert just stared at her. The vision was crisp, clear and unforgettable. It was, perhaps, more vivid even than reality.

Mary's dark, upswept hair was dusted with snowflakes, and her cheeks were pink from the cold. Her bright, blue eyes were the color of a cloudless sky, and she looked at him with a sweet intensity that he'd always longed to see. They stood, very still, for a long time, just studying each other. Finally, Bert acted. With a boldness he always seemed to lack around Mary, he very gently took her face in his hands, and kissed her.

Her lips were cold, yet soft. And she didn't pull away from him. Much like the one night they'd shared, Mary wrapped her arms around him and melted into his kiss. They fit together, he thought. They were perfect compliments. She was crisp lines and order, to his somewhat disorderly existence. Mary was light, purity, and perfection, to his grimy, earthy exterior. He was impulsive and somewhat cavalier, where Mary had a way of making one believe that even her impossible, magickal adventures were thoughtfully planned.

Bert pulled back then, and met Mary's eyes. There was a quiet moment, where the world around them seemed to fall away.

_You are part of who I am, Mary of Mine, _he heard himself say, _I don't know how to be without you…_

Then, with a sad smile, Mary pulled away from him. She backed away and gracefully spun into the snow before he could reach her. Bert reached out, but she was gone. Like the angel he used to believe she was, Mary became nothing more than one of the snowflakes, fitting seamlessly, yet unique in every way.

Bert's dream was abruptly ended when Elphaba came bustling into the room at dawn to check on Mary. He was pulled from sleep, and the vision of Mary and the snow was extinguished.

As he came back to reality, Elphaba commented that there had been no change in Mary overnight, which Elphaba had deemed better than what she'd expected. Then, Bert sleepily watched her examine the motionless woman in the bed. Once she was satisfied, Elphaba instructed him to call for her if Mary woke.

"How?" he asked foggily.

"Focus on me, on that fact that you need me," Elphaba answered, "Mary used to be able to sense when someone needed her. Surely, I can do the same…or, I hope I can. And I'll check back often, as well."

Bert nodded, and then watched her disappear back into Oz. Then, he fell back into sleep, mourning the end of such a beautiful dream.

* * *

A few hours later, the sunlight pouring through the east window woke him again. He was still sprawled in the chair, aching all over. The sleep and the tonic had made him feel somewhat better, physically, but he was emotionally torn apart. The dream had been so beautiful, and yet only seemed to emphasize that Mary would never really be his. As he looked at her now, so still and wounded, Bert felt like a shadow of himself.

So, for the next little while, he simply stared out the window. He didn't have the energy or the will to move. In spite of not having eaten in more then a day, he couldn't say he was all that hungry. He knew he should be, and that he at least needed water. Still, he couldn't make himself move.

His reverie was only broken when Mae came into the room. Silently, she moved a chair beside the bed. She gave him a soft smile, and then turned to Mary. Without explanation or asking permission, she began to pull the hairpins from Mary's hair. Working methodically, she collected all the pins in her apron pocket, and then pulled a brush from another pocket. With practiced skill, she worked the brush through Mary's hair, pulling it out across the crisp linen of the pillow. Bert watched, and appreciated Mae's unabashed kindness.

After another moment, he asked, "Do you 'ave children, Mae?"

She paused, "I did, Bert. I had a daughter. But I lost Anna Margaret some years ago, quite tragically."

Bert felt a stab of regret, "I'm sorry to 'ave asked, then."

Mae shook her head, "It's all right. It's just what life gave me. And I had her for more than thirty years, praise God. She was quite the spirit…"

Bert smiled a little.

"And, I suppose you don't know this, but she was the spittin' image of Elphie. Gave me quite the shock when we first met, but I suppose it makes sense. Elphaba is my niece."

Bert was momentarily confused, but then realized, "Oh…children of both worlds. That's right. So she 'as to have family both 'ere, and in Oz."

Mae nodded, "Dorothy is Elphaba's niece. And our Mary…she must have relatives in both places, as well…"

Bert watched Mae for another moment, and then said, "It's nice…that you call 'er 'Our Mary'…"

"Anyone who lives under my roof is family," Mae stated as she continued to work with the brush.

"That's very kind of you. But you'll be 'ard-pressed to get Mary to ever admit to 'aving any real relatives. She won't tell me a thing about 'er life…"

"I'll agree, there's a lot of pride in this one," Mae answered, "but she has to have been birthed by someone. That much I know."

Bert smiled a little in spite of himself at Mae's no-nonsense answer, "I used to think…that she came from the stars…like they'd shone 'er into existence…"

Mae chuckled, "Love will do that. But she's flesh and bone, Bert…"

They were silent, then, because they were suddenly reminded of Mary's very obvious mortality.

A noise at the door eventually caught Bert's attention, and he turned. Fiyero stood there, looking uncertain.

"May I come in?" he asked.

Bert nodded slightly, and Mae smiled.

"I was hoping…Bert and I could talk…" Fiyero spoke up again.

Mae looked from Fiyero to Bert, and then nodded. Finishing with the brush, she carefully arranged Mary's shining hair on her pillow. Then, she pocketed the brush and left the room. Bert and Fiyero sat there for a long moment in silence.

Eventually, Fiyero said, "I hope I'm not intruding…but I thought...you've been surrounded by women for some time now…"

Bert chuckled in spite of himself, "I suppose I'm grateful, then."

"I also thought…we don't know each other that well, but…we seem to have something very significant in common," Fiyero went on.

Bert raised an eyebrow.

"We love them," Fiyero explained, "these powerful, unstoppable women. These children of two worlds."

Bert sat up straighter in the chair, and felt another tug at his heart. He couldn't think of any argument, and it seemed fruitless to protest, now. His love for Mary was obvious. So he nodded his agreement.

"It's not easy, is it?" Fiyero asked.

Bert thought that might be an understatement, but he stated simply, "No, it's not."

Fiyero studied his hands for a moment, and then offered, "It takes a very strong person, to love an Elphaba…or a Mary Poppins. They jump in and out of your life, always on a mission. They tear through everything they attempt with an unstoppable passion. They have scars and fears that come from a life of not really knowing who, or what, they are. They give to the point of giving parts of themselves away, and they can take your heart without your permission."

Bert just nodded, afraid to admit that Fiyero was the first person he'd ever encountered who really understood his complicated relationship with Mary.

"I know we barely know each other, but I feel like I should share this with you. What I have with Elphaba…was worth waiting for. I'll never tie her down, never force her into domesticity, but she's mine. We're connected in a way that no one can understand, and I love her for who, and what, she is," Fiyero went on.

Bert tried to be positive, "I'm glad you had the chance to have that with her."

Fiyero took a deep breath, "I suppose…I'm trying to say…don't give up. Elphaba and I…we went through hell. She was manipulated, used, and nearly killed. I was attacked and nearly died trying to be with her. She was isolated, judged, hated and hunted down. We never imagined we would ever have a life together, and we survived in spite of incredible odds. And if Mary is as strong as Elphaba, well…"

In spite of his rather poor outlook on things, Bert was touched. Fiyero truly understood, which was rare. Bert studied this foreign, Ozian man Elphaba had called a Winkie prince. He was dark-skinned and strong, with an imposing stature and strong features. Still, there was a compassion about him that suggested he had more heart than brute strength.

When Bert spoke again, he asked, "Did it take a long time? To win Elphaba?"

Fiyero smiled a little, "Perhaps. But Elphaba is not Mary. When she realizes she wants something, or someone…she just takes it. Elphaba is grounded in the world around her. She is all passion and emotion. But she neglects herself, because she would give herself up for what she loves and believes in. For me…it was more about making her realize her own needs, than winning her."

Bert considered this, and said, "They are like two sides of a coin, in a way. Mary belongs to the sky. She is starlight and elusive dreams that you can't catch. She is ordered and controlled. She knows where her significance lies, and refuses to be less than what she is. But I cannot ground her. It's hard to love someone who doesn't think they need to be loved."

"Tell me about it," Fiyero mused.

Bert turned his attention back to Mary, then, and she lay as still as she had for more than a day. He took a deep breath, and said, "I dreamed of her…last night…of just holding her…and…"

He was overcome by the emotion, then.

There was a quiet moment, before Fiyero said, "I don't know Mary's story, Bert, but I sense from what Elphaba has said that Mary might have told her some of it. And I sense that Mary's story is not all roses and perfection. Still, people are more resilient than we think. And I've learned that what looks like tragedy does, sometimes, turn around. Don't give up on Mary, Bert. Ever."

Bert rested his chin on his fists, and said, "It 'elps to 'ear that from you, but even if she recovers…I don't know 'ow to…move past…some things. I don't know if we can get back...what we 'ad, or move forward to something more..."

Fiyero considered his words carefully, "Bert…Elphaba forgave me for making her the other woman in my life. She let go of the fact that I just couldn't tell my wife that I loved someone else. She believed that I had another level, emotionally, and she forgave me for taking so long to see it. And I have gotten over that she kept our relationship purely physical for a long time. She was hard as nails, Bert. And…I've made peace with the fact that she slept with Adrian while we were apart."

Bert furrowed his brow, "Tessy's Adrian?"

Fiyero nodded, "Love forgives, Bert."

There was a long, quiet moment, then, as Bert considered Fiyero's experiences.

Suddenly, the sound of the door opening broke the silence. Bert turned to see Dorothy standing in the doorway, looking very upset. Mae entered behind her a moment later, looking apologetic.

"I'm sorry," Mae said, "I tried to keep her away, but she has been adamant."

"I wanted to see Mary Poppins," Dorothy stated softly.

"She was out yesterday, with her Aunt and Uncle, and she overheard me this morning talking about Mary," Mae explained.

"She's just wonderful…and I've missed her so…" Dorothy went on.

"She's not well, Dorothy," Mae tried to explain, "you must understand that. And you must let her rest."

Dorothy crossed the room in spite of Mae's words, and stood right next to the bed where Mary lay. She looked on the verge of tears, as though she couldn't believe that her formidable caregiver could be so wounded.

"She doesn't look like herself," Dorothy commented softly.

"Perhaps not," Mae agreed.

They all waited for the child to say something more, but she did not. Instead, she just looked at Mary. Then, she reached up and smoothed Mary's hair, much like a child would do to their mother. Then, she carefully reached under the quilt for Mary's hand. Mae started to stop her, but Dorothy had her fingers laced through Mary's before any of them could intervene. Whether she saw the bruises, Dorothy didn't indicate. She just held Mary's hand, and a quiet moment passed. Then, Mary flinched. All of them startled as Mary twitched slightly, and fluttered her eyes. Then, she was still again.

They all second-guessed themselves, as to whether it had happened at all. They stared at Mary, shocked. Then, they turned their attention to Dorothy, who still held tightly to Mary's hand. They saw the connection, knowing Dorothy was no ordinary child, and wondered. They wondered, and watched.


	19. Chapter 19

**Thanks for your patience...and here you go. Enjoy, and I hope to hear from you. :-)**

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Chapter 19

In the palace in the great Emerald City, Elphaba sat with Glinda, trying to gain control of things which were far beyond either of their experience. When Elphaba had returned from Kansas, Glinda was already meeting at the palace with representatives from Munchkinland, the Vinkus, Gillikin, Quadling Country, and even the northern Glikkus. After having met with the Animal leaders at the safe house, Glinda and the Animals had convened on the Emerald City again. This time, however, it was to restore, and Elphaba quickly joined the discussion.

It was time to bring order and restoration to a city devastated by conflict and, before that, years of poor leadership and unrest. It was a daunting task, but Elphaba was determined to see it through. This was a fight that had shaped her life, and for which she'd paid a very high price. She had given up her education, alienated herself, and nearly lost Fiyero trying to make this kind of change. She had nearly gone mad trying to make people see the need for revolution. Therefore, Elphaba refused to be intimidated by the task before her.

Glinda was still proving herself to be a solid partner, as well. Elphaba continued to be surprised at how strong and sensible she'd become since they'd parted ways years before. She knew that life had not turned out to be nearly as lovely and giving as Glinda had imagined, but she was proud of how her friend had finally chosen to use the influence she had to make change. She was more thankful than ever that Glinda had turned out to be Shell's press secretary. As much as she hated what her friend had had to endure, living in the palace, Elphaba knew their success was due, in large part, to Glinda.

Their first task was to reorganize the remaining Gale Force into both a protective force, and an organized defense system. They had chosen from both the Animals and the militia new leaders to head a new Gale Force. They were posted to guard the palace, and reorganize Southstairs. The new soldiers were also charged, with the help of the remaining servants and others recruited from the city, to clean and restore the palace. Glinda had also instructed them to make the palace a more open place, a place that didn't create fear and speculation of corruption.

As these changes were taking place around them, they sat in the large, well-appointed press room in the palace, trying to draw up a new plan for the government of Oz. Working on the foundation laid by the Ozmas, and the somewhat chaotic leadership since then, Elphaba, Glinda, the Animals and the other governors that remained were trying to find common ground so they could move forward.

Elphaba was also finally able to shed light on the ways the Wizard had manipulated the populace into seeing the Animals as both a drain on resources and a security threat. She finally had the platform to demonstrate her extensive knowledge of Life Science, Anthropology, and the ways humans and Animals were essential to one another.

"What I'm proposing," she said to the group of people before her, "is that we continue to allow each of the regions of Oz to elect a governor. These leaders will enforce the laws we establish as a nation, and will be re-elected regularly. However, I also propose that this group of leaders meets regularly in the Emerald City. They will serve a council, if you will, for leading Oz as a whole. I believe we've seen, in our history, that having a tyrannical, one-leader government does little to move Oz in a forward direction. And it usually results in the alienation, or persecution, of one or more groups of people."

The faces around her were a mix of understanding, excitement, and unanswered questions.

Glinda spoke up, "I think it's time. It's time for Oz to make change, and give its people a voice."

Elphaba added, "And in the Other Land, where my father was from, it seems to work very well to let the populace have a voice in their leadership."

To assuage their fears, Elphaba had given them a rudimentary understanding of where she came from, and why she was green. She explained a bit about why she and Mary were both so powerful, and how it was not something to be feared. She did not, however, admit to being a child of the Wizard. That was hard enough for her to admit to herself, and was a detail she thought it better to leave unspoken until she was dead and gone.

A lengthy session of questions and discussions followed, with each person voicing different concerns with regards to the people they represented. It was a good debate, however, and Elphaba was generally pleased. She was starting to believe, for one of the few times in her life, that change might be possible.

Very naturally, as the discussions progressed, the idea of Elphaba being the new leader of Oz was broached. She quickly declined. Elphaba was not made for that, she was certain. She could advise, plan, and even work to execute an idea, but she was not the best choice as a political leader. Even if the whole of Oz could look past her coloring, which had proven difficult in two worlds, she knew she did not have an inviting and patient personality. Glinda, however, was proving to be both gracious and strong.

So, it was a natural extension of the discussion to propose that Glinda be appointed as the first leader of the new Oz. It was a suggestion that was met with silence, and then a heated, yet positive, debate. It was a debate that continued over the next few days, as they all continued to meet and hammer out the future of their country. And for Glinda, it was a proposition that frightened her, although she did an excellent job of hiding the fear beneath her calm demeanor.

One night, however, after several days of meetings, Glinda expressed her fears to Elphaba, saying, "Can you really imagine placing the future of Oz in my hands, Elphie?"

"It's not just in your hands, Glinda. You'll have a council of leaders from all over Oz. You'd just be the mediator, the head that brings the body together. And after a few years, you could turn over the reins to someone else."

Glinda studied her friend with wide, ice-blue eyes, and said, "Did you ever imagine…that we would be here? Doing this?"

Elphaba cocked her head, "There was a time, when I was young, that I imagined myself here, perhaps. And I've always thought you had great potential…but the reality is much more difficult than I expected."

"I think…that a lot of things in life turn out that way," Glinda mused.

There was a quiet moment, while they thought about that.

Carefully, Glinda spoke up again, "It's Fiyero, too….isn't it? You don't want to rule Oz because…you have to go back to Fiyero…"

Elphaba looked at her friend, and couldn't deny it.

"It's all right, Elphie. Things have turned out differently than we both expected. We're both different people than we thought we would be…"

They were both considering the statement, when one of the newly appointed palace guards entered the courtyard, where they sat by moonlight. He nodded to them, and then said, "There's someone at the front gate for you, Miss Elphaba. A young man…"

Elphaba stood and cautiously followed the guard back through the palace. Glinda followed, curious. When they reached the heavy, front doors, the guard pulled one of them open. Standing just outside, looking scared and disheveled, was Liir Thropp.

* * *

In Kansas, the same two weeks had passed, and a different type of rehabilitation was occurring. It became obvious with each sunrise that Mary was not completely lost to them. It was encouraging, if unexplainable, and it was more than Bert could've hoped for. The instrument by which she was improving, however, was the most baffling to him. Somehow, it was a twelve year-old girl who was bringing Mary back to him.

Each time Dorothy came to see Mary, and held her hand, Mary seemed to respond a bit more. It was, illogically, as though Dorothy was acting as some sort of tonic, healing Mary. None of them could explain it, even after they'd all had a chance to witness the strange phenomenon. Tessy, Adrian, Wilbur and Fiyero, even Emily and Henry had taken their turn watching Dorothy interact with Mary. None of them could deny that something was happening. However, they could offer no suggestions as to what that something might be.

Bert had considered trying to summon Elphaba, but Mae had discouraged him, saying, "Elphie has important work in Oz. The fate of a nation rests on her. As long as Mary is improving, I'll watch over her. The reasons for her improvement can be explained in due time. Elphaba will come back as soon as she can. I know her."

And so Bert waited. He waited for the day when Mary would open those blue eyes that cut straight to his soul. He held her hand, and waited for the day when she might squeeze his hand in return. He waited for Elphaba to return and help make sense of all this. He stayed with Mary, and waited.

* * *

Staring into the face of her son, Elphaba was at a complete loss. She saw the young man in front of her, and knew he was the same child she'd abandoned, if unwillingly, two years previous. He would be sixteen now, and had grown out of some of his pudgy, childishness. He was also wearing a tattered and dirty Gale Force uniform, and looked terrified.

In a quiet, strained voice, Elphaba asked, "Liir?"

He nodded slowly.

Stepping back, she motioned for him to come into the expansive, palace entryway.

"Elphie?" Glinda asked carefully.

Liir and Elphaba stood there for a long time, just staring at one another. After an interminable amount of time had passed, Elphaba said very hesitantly, "Glinda…this is my son…Liir."

Glinda gave a tiny gasp, but kept quiet.

"It appears," Liir said timidly, "that the Gale Force, as it was, has been dissolved, and I'm afraid they were my source of shelter…and food. The new leadership sent us home to our next of kin, and…" he didn't finish.

Elphaba's heart wrenched, but she felt paralyzed. She was unable to believe that, after so much time, she was faced with her one, greatest regret in life. She was looking at her son, whom she'd done such a great disservice, whom she didn't deserve in the least. She looked at him, and she had no idea how to react. He couldn't love her, couldn't have missed her. He couldn't have truly wanted to come and find her. That much she knew. Elphaba understood that she had only made his life more difficult, more lonely, and she hated herself for it.

Stepping in toward him, she was overcome by a sense of connection that she'd never let herself feel before. She'd hardened herself, and separated herself from Liir, when she'd thought Fiyero was dead. It had been too much, to have this tangible proof of their affair. Now, however, with Fiyero waiting for her in Kansas, she was overwhelmed by this boy that was her flesh and blood. So she reached out and put her hands on his shoulders. Then, she reached one hand up and touched his face, as though to make sure he was real, or to really see him for the first time.

And as she looked at him, she saw Fiyero. Granted, Liir was fair-skinned and different than both she and Fiyero. It would be easy to deny him. Still, there was something in his eyes, something of Fiyero's sweet, adoring gaze that had made it into her son. It was too much, on the heels of the revolution. Elphaba was already exhausted and strained. She was already afraid of losing Mary and ruining her homeland in the same week. So now, staring at her son, her eyes filled with tears. She quickly turned and walked away, wiping furiously at her eyes, as being in Oz made the tears burn.

After another quiet moment, Liir said, "I was hoping…I might be able to stay here, to claim sanctuary, for the night…"

Elphaba said nothing, and Glinda quietly interjected, "Elphie…I don't think we should turn him out…"

Elphaba took a heavy breath and, still facing the wall, said, "Of course you can stay…you are my son."

She then turned and fled from the room, before her emotions could betray her horribly in front of the boy.

The admission was met with silence, and a glimmer of hope in Liir's eyes.

* * *

Two days later, Elphaba returned to Kansas. The political talks had reached a point where all involved needed a hiatus. They had hammered out several documents that would hopefully become Ozian law, but they needed to be approved by the population. Each representative needed to return to their region and present the propositions to their people. It was critical, Elphaba knew, to involve the people. If they didn't, anything they established would only be seen as another dictatorship, or aristocracy, and would quickly crumble. So, while Glinda oversaw the newly reworked Gale Force in continuing cleanup and renovation in the Emerald City, the council members headed to the corners of Oz. Elphaba, meanwhile, headed back to Kansas.

Now, it was time to tend to Mary. She hoped the fact that she had received no news over the past weeks was a good sign. She hoped Mary had not died, and that Mae had not chosen to simply handle things on her own, with Bert. Elphaba was fairly certain that Bert would have summoned her, though. She felt that he would want Mary in London, if she'd passed away. So Elphaba stayed hopeful.

She also decided to take Liir with her to Kansas, hoping that, in the quiet, calm of the farm, they might be able to make some sense out of their tumultuous relationship. She also hoped he would be willing to meet Fiyero.

Elphaba had said very little to Liir over the past two days. He had kept to the room they'd given him in the palace, mostly resting from battle. All he'd divulged is that he'd joined the Gale Force as a means to food and shelter, and he'd never been entirely sure what he was fighting for. He didn't seem to have any real alliances, one way or the other. He was as timid and uncommitted as Elphaba remembered, no doubt as a result of being denied both a father and a sane mother.

Still, Elphaba couldn't bring herself to apologize, to show how inadequate and emotionally ravaged she felt about him. So she hoped Fiyero might be able to help. She thought, perhaps, he might be able to help her right one of the greatest wrongs of her life.

With all of that on her mind, she gathered her things. Then, without time to really explain to Liir where they were going, she leapt both of them back to Kansas. Liir, having spent most of his life being pulled and tossed at the whim of forces beyond his control, didn't protest.

The two of them stood there for a few minutes in the dewy, spring morning, and stared at their surroundings. Elphaba looked toward the farmhouse, wondering what measure of joy or sorrow might be waiting for her there. Liir looked around with a mixture of confusion and fear. Then, much as she'd done for the entirety of their relationship, Elphaba took off towards the farmhouse without any explanation. Liir followed, if only because he had little other choice.

Silently, they made their way across the yard, up the porch steps, and into Mae's kitchen. As fate would have it, they walked in on the entire family, both blood-related and adopted, sitting around the living room. Mae was standing toward the kitchen, holding a coffee pot and looking a bit lost. Bert sat on the sofa, with tired eyes and a rough, unshaven face. Tessy and Adrian sat together on the settee. Tessy had her hands resting on her rounded stomach, and looked tired as well. Dorothy sat cross-legged on the floor, with Emily and Henry sitting in the chairs behind her. Standing just inside the door, Elphaba stopped and evaluated the scene in front of her. Liir stood there as well, looking as though he'd like to disappear.

"What's going on?" Elphaba asked guardedly.

Mae startled, and then looked relived. She sat the coffee pot down on the table and wiped her hands on a cloth. Approaching Elphaba she said, "I'm so glad you're back…"

Elphaba was immediately concerned, because of the touch of uncertain desperation in Mae's voice.

Taking a deep breath, Elphaba asked, "Is it Mary? Is she…did something…happen? You should've have tried to call for me…I would've come. She is my friend…she was…my friend…"

Mae, realizing what Elphaba had assumed, shook her head, "No, Elphie. No…it's not that. Of course, we would've tried to find you. Mary's alive. It's…it's Dorothy…"

Elphaba look past Mae to the child, saying, "Dorothy is right there."

Mae struggled, "I know. But…it's what Dorothy…does, or causes…"

Elphaba looked absolutely dumbfounded.

Turning towards the room off the kitchen, Mae said, "Follow me," then she gestured toward the young girl, "Dorothy?"

Looking from Emily to Henry, Dorothy stood and hesitantly followed.

As she walked, Mae explained, "We were just talking about this, coincidentally. We were all trying to make some sense of it. Shortly after you left, Dorothy came in to visit Mary. We tried to stop her. We were afraid she would be upset…"

Once in the room where Mary lay, Elphaba looked at the woman in the bed. She was as still as Elphaba remembered. The only noticeable difference was that she might have a touch more color. Crossing the room, Elphaba took a moment and watched as Mary's breath came in even rhythms. However, with a nod from Mae, Dorothy crossed to the bed as well.

Mae spoke again, "We noticed this just after you left. I can't explain it…perhaps you can…"

Dorothy sat down gently on the bed. Very carefully, she reached under Mary's blanket and took her hand. They watched expectantly as the young girl closed her eyes. Elphaba furrowed her brow, uncertain. After a few moments, however, she saw it. Mary fluttered her eyes, and moved slightly beneath the quilts. Elphaba watched in astonishment as Dorothy continued to hold Mary's hand.

"This happens every time she touches her," Mae explained, "And…I believe Mary's getting better. I'm no doctor, but…"

Shocked and excited, Elphaba said, "I need to look her over again…to tell if that's true, and to try to understand what might be happening. Let me have a moment."

Mae ushered Dorothy back into the living room, and noticed Liir standing just inside the kitchen doorway. Realizing he had come in with Elphaba, Mae asked, "And who is this?"

Remembering Liir, Elphaba stopped for a moment, "Oh…" she struggled, "Mae…this is Liir Thropp. He is…my son."

The room was very quiet, as they all looked on in shock.

"They'll be time for explanations later," Elphaba went on, "Liir, sit with the others."

Liir, who was used to his life taking unexpected turns, and to being ordered around, simply obeyed.

Alone with Mary, Elphaba carefully pulled back the quilts to examine her friend. She still hoped that Mary would forgive her these indiscretions when, and if, she woke up. With a careful eye and probing hands, Elphaba looked over the bruising and abrasions on her friend. She carefully checked for the fractures she'd felt just a few weeks previous. To her surprise, several of them were significantly improved. She also noticed that the bruising was fading a bit. She stood there, pleased but perplexed. Calling for Mae and Dorothy to come back into the room, Elphaba considered the situation.

Looking at Dorothy, she asked, "Do you feel anything, when you touch her?"

Dorothy chewed her lip, "I suppose…I feel sort of tired, and warm. Her hand feels warm…"

Elphaba took Mary's hand in hers, but didn't notice anything unusual. Studying Dorothy again, she said, "Take her hand again."

Dorothy sat on the bed and complied, and then looked at Elphaba with wide eyes.

"Now," Elphaba instructed, "I want you to focus on Mary being well. I want you to concentrate on helping her to heal."

As they talked, Elphaba noticed that Emily had come into the room as well. She was watching the scene unfold, ready to step in on Dorothy's behalf if necessary. Bert stood just behind her, watching.

After looking around the room once more, Dorothy closed her eyes and focused. She held tightly to Mary's hand, and the rest of them watched anxiously. After a few moments, Mary twitched again. She fluttered her eyes and moved her head on the pillow.

Dorothy flinched suddenly, and opened her eyes, saying, "She squeezed my hand. It wasn't me…it was her…"

"Keep focusing," Elphaba instructed anxiously.

Around the room, they all looked on in anticipation. Dorothy closed her eyes, and focused once more. After another few minutes, Mary shifted in the bed, bringing one arm up to her chest. Dorothy continued to focus intently, with her eyes closed.

And after another few minutes, Mary opened her eyes. Mae gasped in surprise. Also seeing what had happened, Bert went to her. He sat on the opposite side of the bed from Dorothy and took Mary's other hand.

Quietly, Mae ushered Emily and Dorothy from the room, knowing that Mary wouldn't want to wake to find a room full of people staring at her in such a state. Then, only Elphaba and Bert remained, watching Mary closely.

Mary opened and closed her eyes a few times before she finally focused on her surroundings. She stared at Bert for a long moment, searching his face. Finally, she barely whispered, "Bert…"

He swallowed over his emotions and said, "Mary…"

With a hint of a smile, she added, "I'd hoped you'd be here…beyond the stars."

Quietly, Elphaba stated, "You're not dead, Mary."

Mary look Elphaba over, her expression darkening into confusion.

Bert spoke up, "You fell, Mary. There was the battle, and I was shot, and…you fell…"

Mary looked into his eyes intently, but she said nothing. She gave no indication, yet, as to whether she remembered what she had done.

After another moment, she said, "I must look a frightful mess…"

Elphaba heard the catch in Bert's voice as he said, "Mary Mine…you are alive…"

Mary smiled just a little.

Elphaba turned away, deciding to give them a few minutes alone. Mary didn't seem to be in any immediate danger, and answers would come soon enough. She went back out into the living room, where the others waited.

Surveying the room, she said, "Mary's awake, and I'm going to give them a minute," she paused, "As for Dorothy, all of you were talking about this when I came in?"

Mae nodded, "We've been trying to make sense of it for days."

"We thought Adrian might have some thoughts, given his back ground," Tessy spoke up.

Elphaba nodded her agreement, and then crossed to where Dorothy was laying with her head in Emily's lap. She sat in the chair across from her, and asked, "Is something wrong?"

"No," Dorothy answered, "it just makes me tired."

"What does?" Elphaba asked.

"Holding Mary's hand," Dorothy explained.

Elphaba nodded, and then thought for a moment. Finally, she asked, "Has this ever happened before? Have you ever…helped someone to get well?" She included Emily and Henry in her questioning gaze.

Henry spoke up quietly, "There was once, when she was small, maybe six or seven, that she found a puppy on the edge of our farm. He was in bad shape…been attacked by a fox or a wildcat. Just a little thing. I patched him up, but none of us thought he would live. Dorothy just held him and held him, saying it made him stop shaking. Next we knew, he was eating. His wounds healed up. We just thought it was luck. We called him Lucky, an account of that…"

Elphaba listened carefully, and then looked back at Dorothy. The young girl had let her eyes fall closed, and was asleep in Emily's lap.

"I think," Elphaba stated, "that we've discovered what makes Dorothy different, as a child of both worlds. It seems that I am green, and Mary...has her differences," she hesitated, not wanting to betray Mary's trust, "And Dorothy...she is something of a healing sorceress..."

"You really think she helped Mary to get well?" Mae asked in disbelief.

Elphaba nodded, "Somehow, yes. And I think, just now, by really focusing on what she was doing, she helped her to wake up."

They all looked at Dorothy then, with a mix of awe and uncertainty.

Elphaba got up and went back to Mary's room, then, to see how she was doing. She hoped the effect of whatever Dorothy had done would not wear off. She hoped it was a permanent, progressive healing. Elphaba stopped at the door, however, when she saw Bert and Mary.

Bert had crawled into the small bed next to Mary, carefully positioning himself as not to hurt her. He had carefully slid one arm under her shoulders, so that she was resting against his chest. Elphaba, knowing how very injured Mary was, started to protest. She didn't want to risk Mary's body healing incorrectly, and there was no way to splint all of her fractures. Elphaba held her tongue, however, noting how very still and careful Bert was.

He stroked Mary's hair lightly, saying, "I love you, Mary of mine…"

Mary's face was wet with tears that she let silently fall.

Elphaba turned and went back into the living room, deciding to leave them be. They deserved some time alone, to make peace with one another, she hoped.

As Elphaba started to tell everyone that Mary seemed to be all right, for the moment, Fiyero came through the kitchen door. He locked eyes with Elphaba, and said, "There you are. One of the farmhands said he thought he saw you…"

Elphaba gave him an apologetic look, "I'm sorry…I intended just to check on Mary and…things were complicated…"

Fiyero smiled, "Things are always complicated."

Elphaba chuckled.

Suddenly, they heard Liir ask, "Fiyero?"

Both Elphaba and Fiyero turned to see Liir standing up just beyond the couch where he'd been sitting. Elphaba had once again found herself so wrapped up in what was happening, that she'd forgotten about him. It seemed to be a pattern in their relationship, and she regretted it horribly.

So she took a deep breath and said, "Yes. Liir, this is…Fiyero."

Liir looked uncertain.

Taking another, deeper breath, Elphaba looked at Fiyero with wide eyes and said, "Yero…this is your son, Liir."

No one moved. Anyone who'd thought they might be going on about their business suddenly changed their mind. Everyone was entirely still, staring at Elphaba, Fiyero, and Liir. They all held their breath, and waited for Fiyero's response.


	20. Chapter 20

**Alas...I have finally been able to update. Sorry for the haitus, but I'm opening a new show. I hope you'll read and review, as we're almost to the end. ;-)**

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**Chapter 20**

For a very long time, no one said anything. Mae's living room was once again filled with palpable, awkward silence. Some of them stared at Liir or Fiyero, others studied their hands or the floor.

Eventually, after an interminable amount of time, Mae spoke up, saying, "Well, I'm certain we all have things to do…and the question of Dorothy seems to have been answered, so…"

And with that, she headed towards the door. The others in the room followed, responding to the hint of a command in Mae's voice. Adrian helped a very pregnant Tessy up the stairs. Emily and Henry took Dorothy upstairs, as well, and Wilbur headed outside. Then, only Fiyero, Liir, and Elphaba remained. They studied each other for a long moment, none of them sure exactly what to say.

Finally, Elphaba said softly, "I…I know this is absolutely not the way either of you ever imagined meeting one another…and, I'm sorry…"

Liir looked shocked, to hear Elphaba make such an admission, or perhaps just to hear her express emotion.

Finally, Fiyero collected himself enough to speak. He crossed to the sofa, and sat across from his son, saying, "I'm certain, especially considering that Elphaba had to leap you out of Oz to be here, that this is not what you expected to happen today…"

Clearing his throat, Liir said, "Considering that I've spent the past few weeks fighting a war, a war that I didn't even understand, I have very little left in me with which to feel surprised."

Elphaba was struck by the wisdom with which he spoke. When they'd last interacted, almost two years previous, Liir had been whiny and indecisive. This young man before her was barely a shadow of that young boy.

She wrung her hands for a minute, and then said, "I've been nothing of a mother to you, Liir. I've never even admitted to birthing you. I never told you about…Fiyero. And…I'll admit, I'm not much better at nurturing, now. It escapes me, I suppose…"

Liir shrugged, "I understand. You never wanted a child. I ruined the affair. I see why you would resent me."

Elphaba felt a tug at her heart, "There was…a lot more going on then just a ruined affair."

Liir looked at her, his expression somewhere between wounded and angry.

Taking a deep breath, Fiyero spoke up, "Neither one of us behaved very well, Liir. We were both impulsive and careless. We're incredibly imperfect. Still…we claim you."

Liir gave a sad chuckle, "You don't need to claim me, when I'm nearly grown. I've fought a war, for Ozsakes."

"Against me," Elphaba added, "You fought a war against me…and, as much as I care about the cause of freedom in Oz…I suppose I don't blame you…for opposing me..."

She struggled, and Liir looked at his hands.

After another minute, he said, "I had no idea what I was fighting for. I've never known…what side I was supposed to be on…"

Elphaba rubbed her eyes, "I know…"

"There's no need agonizing. I'm raised, now. We can all walk away, if that's easier," Liir stated.

Elphaba gave him a quick look, and then wrung her hands again. She started to feel a bit of panic, and wasn't exactly sure why.

"I just," she started, "I mean, I know you don't need a mother, now. And I'm ill-suited, certainly, but…"

Elphaba rubbed her eyes again, and Fiyero could see her struggling. Noticing the trembling in her hands, he stood and crossed to her. Taking her hands, he looked into her conflicted, brown eyes. Then, he took her face in his hands and kissed her softly, saying, "Remember, this time, I'm here. Don't make yourself sick," Fiyero looked at her intently.

Knowing he was referring to her paroxysm, Elphaba took a breath. She felt better, touching him. After a moment, she glanced back at Liir. The hard indifference on his face was replaced with something between surprise and uncertainty. He stared at his parents, holding each other and, very slowly, he smiled in spite of himself.

* * *

In the guest quarters, Bert and Mary still lay in the bed together, almost oblivious to the world around them. Mary had tearstains on her face, and Bert carefully wiped away the tears when they fell.

After another minute, he finally said, "I've never seen you cry, Mary…"

Mary drew a long breath, "I know…I suppose the tears are because…you have to see me this way. Because I've turned out to be so horribly…imperfect."

"Mary," Bert said softly, "how could you ever think I wanted you to be perfect?"

"That's who I am, Bert. I am practically perfect. I choose what is prudent over what is frivolous. I put aside sentiment to focus on what needs to be done. I make wise choices. I give everything to my work. I do not need to be coddled."

"That's an awfully difficult way to live," Bert stated.

"But it's why you love me," Mary argued, "You love the perfection. You love the impossible fantasy of Mary Poppins."

Bert looked at her, and said, "That's not why I love you, Mary."

Mary scoffed, "You wouldn't love the reality of me, Bert."

Two more tears slid down her cheeks, and she started to raise her hand to wipe them away. Wincing in pain, she stopped.

Bert wiped the tears, and argued, "We've done this before, and yes, I do."

Giving him a harsh look, Mary said, "I'm an orphan, Bert. Or, at least, I'm abandoned. I have no grand beginnings. I may have a noble purpose, but I can never live up to what you've made of me in your head."

Watching her, and holding her, Bert said, "And where do you think I came from, Mary Mine? My parents are long gone, and I spent my childhood in the streets. I'm no perfect prize."

Mary shook her head, "Don't love me, Bert. Don't rationalize it. You're in love with a fantasy, and I will disappoint you."

Bert took a moment, and said, "We all disappoint each other, sometimes. That's the best part of love, when you recognize the flaws, and love someone anyway."

Mary looked up at him, studying him with watery, very blue eyes. She looked very vulnerable, as though her walls had been beaten down. After another moment, she said, "You're very wise, Bert. More so than I've given you credit for. I don't know how I've never appreciated that before…"

Bert smiled, and said, "I try, sometimes," he paused, "And I imagine that it must be a great burden, to be perfect all the time…"

There was another quiet moment, with both of them studying each other, and the weight of her perfection was evident in Mary's eyes.

Then, Bert asked carefully, "Mary Mine…may I kiss you?"

Mary's eyes were conflicted, but she nodded.

So Bert leaned in and kissed her mouth, very gently. Yet he lingered, hoping she could feel the pounding of his heart. When he pulled back, there were fresh tears on her face.

Wiping them again, he asked fearfully, "What's wrong?"

Sniffing, Mary admitted hoarsely, "We made love, Bert. I cannot deny it anymore. I was with you…I seduced you. And I wanted you…more than I've ever wanted anything. And I'm sorry, because I hurt you. You are my best friend, and I'm afraid I've ruined that, by trying to protect it."

"Mary," Bert argued, "you will always have my friendship. No matter what."

They looked at each other for a long moment, searching for more words.

Clearing her throat softly, Mary struggled as she went on, "And…I'd never been with a man...before you, Bert. I am the master of what I do. I am strong, unyielding, and I know how to lead, how to make others look at themselves and find their best. But…I've never let anyone touch me. Not that way. I've never been that…vulnerable."

Bert looked at her, and asked, "Because of the bruises?"

She nodded slightly.

After a time, Bert hesitantly posed the most difficult question, "Mary…I have to ask…did you intend to fall from the sky? Did you do that…because of me?"

She looked away, warring with her pride. Eventually, she said, "Yes, Bert."

"That's quite an emotional response," Bert observed, "for someone who doesn't allow sentiment to muddle her thinking."

Mary met his eyes again, and stated, "You've muddled my thinking, Bert. The moment I crawled into your bed, I became impossibly muddled."

Bert smiled just slightly, and kissed her softly once again.

* * *

Liir said very little to Elphaba over the next two days. He stayed, because he had very little choice, and the prospect of returning, alone, to war-torn Oz, was not appealing. However, he kept to himself, helping however he could and otherwise looking distant and thoughtful. Elphaba watched him, surprised at how he'd changed, and how he'd managed to grow up so effectively without her.

It wasn't until the third day that she realized Liir was talking to Fiyero. She caught them behind the barn, just off the room Mae and Wilbur had converted into a laboratory and workspace for her. Elphaba stared at them, half-pleased, half-dumbfounded, as she watched them talking. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but they seemed at ease with each other. It caused a twinge of jealousy, and another wave of regret, as Elphaba realized yet again how horrible a mother she'd been.

Fiyero had found her a few hours later, sitting in their bedroom and staring out at the setting sun. Crossing to her, he asked, "Something worrying you?"

Elphaba looked at him, her expression both hard and sad at the same time.

Fiyero sighed, "It's Liir, isn't it?"

Elphaba looked out the window, saying, "I saw you talking…"

Fiyero sat down across from her, "Isn't that a good thing? I think…we're connecting a little…"

Chewing her lip, Elphaba answered, "Yes, it is. But I'm afraid I've burnt the bridge between him and me. He can forgive you, because you didn't ignore and mistreat him."

Fiyero studied her, his dark eyes compassionate, and said, "He's a lot like you, Fae. He dwells on things. He's been abandoned and had to make his own life. You know, better than anyone, how hard that is…"

Elphaba looked at her hands, and did not disagree.

Fiyero leaned forward and took her hands in his, "This will take time. And, fortunately, that's something we have. We've got time, Fae. You've been fighting for Oz. Maybe, now, it's time to be still, and know your son."

"He hardly feels like my son," Elphaba whispered.

"I know," Fiyero agreed, "He's not an infant. He doesn't need to be fed and diapered. He's nearly a man. Look at him that way. Talk to him that way. Listen to him that way."

Elphaba met his eyes, knowing he was right. Then, she kissed him fiercely, because he was her rock, her safe place, and her shelter. She'd come back to rest in his arms, and he held her, as always.

* * *

The next two months felt like a slow progression for everyone on the Proctor farm. As summer washed over Amber Plains with warm breezes and sprouting grains, they all changed in their own ways. Tessy grew more round and heavy with pregnancy, and spent her days on Mae's porch, talking with Elphaba and shelling peas. Liir and Fiyero slowly built a bond, working side by side in the fields or in the barns. Elphaba went back and forth to Oz, helping Glinda heal a broken, yet recovering Oz. And Mary healed as well. With the help of Dorothy's touch, her body healed from impossible injury, and she grew stronger. She sat up and moved, working her limbs and joints. As she healed, she also talked.

Bert sat with her every day, telling her stories of good times they'd shared in London, to keep her spirits up. And in between his stories, Mary allowed herself to talk about her life. She often stared out the window, as though it would be difficult to look Bert in the eyes while she talked. It was still apparent that she was very uncomfortable being so exposed, but she talked.

Mary told of her childhood, as she'd explained it to Elphaba. She told how little she knew of her parents, and how Elphaba's explanation of what it meant to be a child of both worlds had been Mary's first hint at how she'd come to be. She talked about Sister Amelia, and how she'd been raised. On one particularly warm afternoon, when she'd finally been able to sit in a chair, Mary told Bert about discovering her magick, and leaping into Oz for the first time.

Bert listened, enraptured, for more than two months. He savored every moment, every word, as Mary unraveled the mystery of herself. Yet, somehow, with every revelation, she became more impossibly fascinating to him. And he knew, in his heart, it was because he loved her. Mary could tell him she'd spent her childhood milking cows or shoveling manure, and he would think it was amazing. She was amazing. She was strong, enduring, and wholly committed to leaving a mark on the world. In that way, she would always be practically perfect. Mary could weave good from bad, order from chaos, and hope from despair. That was as close to a perfect way of handling life as one could come, Bert believed.

So, he wasn't one bit surprised, when Tessy went into labor in late June, that Mary was there. She'd dressed herself in working clothes and pinned her hair in a functional knot. The others were shocked to see her on her feet, offering to help, but Bert expected nothing less of her. And neither did, Elphaba, it seemed. With a bit of a smirk, Elphaba shooed the others away, and she, Mae, and Mary set about helping Tessy give birth.

It was a long, arduous process, as was expected. The pains lasted most of the day and into the night, and the men took to waiting in the living room of Mae's house. They rested in shifts, in case one of them needed to set out to find the doctor. None of them wanted Adrian to have to leave, should anything go wrong. Things seemed to move normally, if slowly, however, and sometime in the wee hours, there was the faint cry of an infant.

Mae came out of the downstairs room where Tessy lay, and announced to a sleep deprived room of people that the baby was a boy.

"He's fine," she said softly, giving permission for all of them to get some real sleep.

The women helped clean up the mess of childbirth, and watched the baby until both he and his mother fell into a much needed sleep. Then, Mae offered to lay on the cot in the room while Mary and Elphaba freshened themselves up. There were no complaints, and both women went to their quarters.

Some time later, when Elphaba had changed her clothes and washed up, she went looking for Mary. Before she slept, herself, she wanted to make sure Mary had not overworked herself. Checking in the room off the kitchen where Mary still slept, Elphaba looked around. Something felt a bit off, and it took her a moment to realize what it was. The room was barren. The traces of Mary were gone, and Elphaba felt a twinge in her spirit.

Turning on her heel, she hurried through the kitchen and out the door onto the porch. Looking around, she scanned the yard and the road leading to the house. Then, knowing Mary, she ran into the yard and scanned the roof. Seeing nothing, she almost gave up. Acting on one last impulse, however, she went around to the other side of the house, where the sun was rising over the open fields to the east. There, facing the rising sun, stood Mary.

Elphaba approached quietly, and stopped a few feet away. Mary stood there, impeccably dressed, her shining hair twisted perfectly, her hat in place, with her umbrella and bag in her hand. Her eyes were closed, as though she were drawing energy from the brightening sky, or perhaps listening to the wind.

In the quiet, Elphaba asked, "Are you going?"

Mary startled, and turned. She looked at Elphaba, and said, "The winds changed."

Elphaba cocked an eyebrow, "Are you still using that excuse? To run away?"

"The wind does speak, Miss Elphaba, if you'd learn to listen."

"I thought we were past the formalities, Mary. We are friends, and I am Elphie, to you."

Mary looked at her, "Very well, Elphie."

Elphaba sighed, "Perhaps it's not the wind that's changed, this time. Perhaps it's you?"

Mary looked away.

There was another long pause, before Elphaba said, "You may not need Bert, Mary, but he needs you. As much as your strength comes from within…his comes from you."

Mary still didn't answer.

"We're a bit like reflections in a mirror, you and I," Elphaba went on, "I used to think Galinda was my opposite, the light to my darkness, if you will. But you…you are the east to my west. You are the steady, rising sun that forces the day to come, whether the world is ready or not. And I am the explosive, western sunset, bringing on the mystery of night. If nothing else, we make sense of one another."

Still looking away, Mary said, "That's beautifully poetic."

"I try," Elphaba replied.

Mary took a step forward, then, and Elphaba said, "Don't go, Mary. Not this time…"

As if she were struggling a little, Mary turned. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew a piece of paper, and said, "I debated this, but I believe it would be wrong to go without it." Placing it in Elphaba's hand, she went on, "Please make sure Bert gets this. Please?"

Elphaba nodded, and looked down at the neatly folded note. When she looked up, Mary was gone, leaving only a rustling in the air, and the faint scent of starlight.

* * *

Three hours later, when Bert was awake, Elphaba was waiting for him on the porch. He had just washed up, and agreed to meet her there. Holding a cup of coffee, he took a seat in the chair next to her.

With a heavy heart, Elphaba handed him Mary's note. She watched as he set the cup down, and unfolded the crisp paper. His eyes scanned the scrawling script, and Elphaba saw his face fall.

After a moment, she asked softly, "What does it say?"

Swallowing hard, Bert handed her the note. It read:

_There will never be another._

_Till we meet again,_

_Mary_

There was a very long, quiet moment when neither was sure what to say.

Finally, Elphaba said, "It's her way, Bert…"

Taking the paper back, Bert read it again, and said weakly, "She'll be back."

"How do you know?"

"Because," he replied, "she said 'Till we meet again'. That means…she will come back."

Elphaba tried to smile, for his sake, and Bert looked as though he were trying to convince himself.

* * *

Summer came, and summer went. The seasons changed and the grain was harvested. The baby grew fat on Tessy's milk, until he could sit up and gurgle. Liir started to work alongside Elphaba in her workspace, tending the animals and learning her skills. There was a calm between them, an understanding. Elphaba also went to Oz, watching the emerging leadership and the hope of a new nation. She was proud of Glinda, of the powerful woman she'd finally become. In Kansas, Dorothy grew taller, and started to leave childhood behind. She studied with Elphaba as well, at a different craft. Together, they made magick. And still, there was no Mary.

Bert watched for her, waited for her, and hoped for her. He drew her, imagined her, and missed her with every sunrise, every lonely night, and every quiet moment. He worked on the farm, drawing his usual contentment from working with his hands. Still, something was missing. Something was forever, missing.

Elphaba had tried to find her. She'd focused on her, and tried to leap to where she was. She was unsuccessful, however. Mary would not be followed. There were a few times that Elphaba felt she'd leapt to a place where Mary had just been. She'd sensed that hint of stardust. Mary herself, however, was always just out of reach.

So, after a year, Bert decided to go back to London. He packed his things, said his goodbyes, and had Elphaba take him back to his birthplace. It was time to move on, he decided. It was time to get back to what he knew. He needed to leave this place that was full of memories of he and Mary. He needed to leave the bed where they had made love, because the memory was starting to hurt. He needed to find his friends, his old haunts, and resign himself to who he was.

Without looking back, and with Mary's note in his coat pocket, Bert returned, full circle, to London. Elphaba left him in the park, his park, and he sat on his bench. He sat there, and he drew Mary. He drew her as she'd looked in Oz, standing strong, with her hair wild and free. He drew her curled in the bed, healing in sleep. He drew her in the chair, telling him stories in the soft light. He put the memories on paper, and tried to move forward. He tried to purge the past, with every charcoal stroke. Yet he felt stuck, still, suspended in an eternal limbo, holding foolishly to the words,

_Till we meet again,_

_Mary._


End file.
